


Consequences

by paintitb1ack



Series: Lionheart [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Sam Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, British Men of Letters, Demisexual Castiel, Episode: s12e13 Family Feud, Explicit Sexual Content, I think we all know Crowley fucked up, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Possession, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Sam Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, lucifer and sam's "relationship" was not consensual okay, samifer slash can fuck off, someone you thought was alive is dead, someone you thought was dead is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 34,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: So Crowley decided to imprison an archangel in his basement.I think you know what happens next.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How many secrets can you keep?" - Arctic Monkeys

Crowley hears him the moment he begins to sing, and immediately his temper flares. 

“I’ve got no strings, to hold me down…”

He’s been doing this for weeks, stopping only to converse whenever the King of Hell enters his cage. The irritation doesn’t come because he’s got an awful voice; truthfully, he has a terrific set of pipes. It’s the songs he chooses to sing that are the problem. They’re all folksy music, without even the slightest hint of the much more preferable Led Zeppelin or Vince Vincente’s “hair rock.”

“Make me fret, or make me frown!”

This time, however, he’s chosen a different genre, one that’s unsettling, even for him. He’s moved onto a Disney classic, and Crowley’s not liking it.

“I had strings, but now I’m free…”

Not one bit.

“There are no strings on me!”

The King of Hell moves slowly down the hall, shoes clicking against the stone floor. They’ve already tortured him a bit, but nothing really seems to take. He supposes he should have realized that; he is, after all, dealing with an archangel.

“Hi-ho the merry-o, that’s the only way to go!”

Every once in a while, Crowley actually feels a twinge of guilt. He has to remind himself that he’s doing the right thing, that he’s not betraying the Winchester boys. 

“I want the world to know, nothing ever worries me!”

He shakes his head, silently chiding himself. But why would it even matter if he betrayed them? They’re not his friends. Granted, Sam and Dean have stopped trying to kill him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Right?

“I’ve got no strings, so I have fun…”

Pausing outside of the throne room, Crowley takes a deep breath. All of this business with Heaven and Hell, Castiel and the Winchesters, the British Men of Letters - God only knows where they came from - and now, on top of all that, he has in one of his cells a being who seems to be the only one who actually wants to be here.

“I’m not tied up to anyone…”

He takes hold of the handles and pulls the doors open. There are normally a few demons milling about the hall, waiting to do this _for_ him, but Crowley sent them all away the moment he took the archangel into his care. There was no sense to them being allowed to know what their king has done.

“They’ve got strings, but you can see…”

They lock eyes the moment Crowley steps into the room, and all of the air is immediately gone from the demon’s lungs. 

Legs kicked over one of the armrests of the throne, Lucifer smiles at him, fingers tapping against his jeans as he finishes, “There are no strings on me!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble." - Bowers

Crowley licks his lips, fear and confusion like sheets of water down his spine. “Lucifer?” He says, the name coming out more like a question than the threat. 

The archangel swivels in his seat, hands slapping down on his thighs. “I know, right?” He says, far too giddy. “Puh- _lot_ twist!”

“How, uh…” The demon clears his throat once, then twice. He’s in danger now, there’s no denying that. Even better, he’ll probably be dead within the next few seconds if he doesn’t do what he does best: stall. “How did you escape?”

“Escape?” A sharp laugh as Lucifer rises from the throne. “Crowley, buddy, pal…” He spreads his arms. “I was never even your _prisoner.”_

Curses tap the backs of Crowley’s teeth, but he knows better than to release them. Keep him calm. That’s all he has to do right now. Stall him and keep him calm. “I don’t understand,” he says and, honestly, he really doesn’t. They’d replicated the winged bastard’s Cage down to the letter. And if he wasn’t even stuck in the first place, then why—

“Why not leave?” Lucifer raises his eyebrows.

Mind-reading. He’d forgotten about that.

The angel shrugs. “I wanted to see what you planned to do with me. And I gotta say…” His face contorts into a mock grimace. “I’m kinda disappointed.”

“I didn’t ask for your blessing,” the demon retorts. The sentence sounds even more imbecilic out loud than it did in his head.

“Impertinent.” Lucifer crosses his arms. “I take it you didn’t learn anything while I was your master.”

“I do hate you quite a bit more than I did a couple of years ago, if that counts for anything.”

A tight smile. “How sweet. Oh, hey, I almost forgot to ask: how’s that son of yours?”

Crowley locks his jaw. “Out of my reach,” he says thinly. “And most certainly out of yours.”

“Really? You sure about that?” He thumbs at his nose. “Huh. Guess I sunk the wrong ship.”

For a single moment, everything freezes. Thoughts catch in the demon’s mind, unable to sort themselves out enough for him to get out anything more than a halted “Beg pardon?”

Lucifer steps forwards, slowly closing the gap between them. “It was called _The Star,_ right? Please tell me it was; I’d hate to have killed the wrong person.”

Crowley takes a breath. “You,” he says slowly, “had nothing to do with my son’s death.”

“So you think that _The Star’s_ 1973 voyage from Scotland to America was cut short but some freak storm?” He bobs his head. “Sure, yeah, I guess that could be the case. But what about his fiancé, Fiona?”

“You can’t know about her.” The demon’s voice is growing in pitch. “I didn’t know about her until a few days ago so how could you possibly have—“

“I was _there_ , you moron. On _The Star,_ with _both_ of them.”

Crowley digs his nails into his palms, breathing shallow as Lucifer steps into his space. “That’s not possible.”

“Sam and Dean did it,” the archangel replies. “I was there. _I_ was the one who sent Dean back to World War II.”

“Had so much fun you just had to try it out for yourself, eh?”

“You could say that. Might’ve screwed with the timeline a bit; I mean, if I’m being perfectly honest here, Gavin and Fiona were supposed to survive that trip. Which means you didn’t save the world.” Lucifer reaches out and touches a finger to Crowley’s chest. “You killed your only son.”

Unable to hold back any longer, the demon takes Lucifer’s tan shirt in his grasp and cocks his right fist. 

The look of surprise on the archangel’s face lasts only for a second, immediately being replaced by a pleased smile and a smattering of laughter as he ducks out of the way. 

An unprecedented amount of fear floods Crowley’s veins as his arm passes over Lucifer’s head. “Shi—“

Lucifer cuts him off with a solid punch to the gut, angelic strength sending the demon halfway across the room.

Crowley’s head strikes the ground at an odd angle, and blood from the fantastically horrible wound flecks the stone floor. He tries to push himself up, but his body is too busy trying to fight off any nausea to allow him the strength. Tears are beginning to form in his normally cold, dead eyes.  

This can’t be happening, it can’t. Death is not something he fears - never has, probably never will - because far worse is what can happen to someone while they are still alive. And this, this is one of those moments in which he’s thinking just that. Far better to be dead than to see what Lucifer intends on doing next. 

“Well, isn’t that unfortunate.”

The demon hisses in pain as a single pale foot rolls him over onto his back. He looks up into his eyes, Lucifer’s innocent blue now swimming in red. “You listen to me, you _waste_ —“

“Ah, ah, ah,” the archangel tuts, one finger raised. “Listen. Buddy. I think it’s safe to say that I won, so, how about you do me a favor and, uh, keep the accent to yourself.”

A growl rumbles in the back of Crowley’s throat, but he says nothing.

Lucifer smiles. “That’s a good doggy.” Reaching down, he takes the King of Hell by the collar and lugs him to his feet. “Dad-dammit you’re heavy as shit, you know that?”

Pink floods the demon’s cheeks. “Unnecessary,” he murmurs, and the archangel nods. “Yeah, probably. Fun, though.”

Flipping open Crowley’s jacket, Lucifer “hmm”s softly as he conducts a quick search. “Nope, nope, nope,” he growls as each pocket turns up empty. 

“Might I be of assistance?” The demon asks mockingly, and immediately he’s rewarded with a “shut your pie hole, ass-clown” and a smack on the side of the head. 

“Aha!” Lucifer crows a few moments later as he pulls a cell phone from the folds of the heavy coat. Tapping on the screen, he quickly pulls up the contacts list and begins to scroll. “You don’t mind, do you? There’s an old boyfriend I’ve been meaning to get ahold of.” He pauses, finger hovering over _Moose._ “Cute,” he says, voice almost reminiscent as he presses his thumb gently against the name. Then he raises it to his ear, listening to it as it rings once, then twice, then—

“Hello?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m just trying to protect myself. I’m still learning how to protect myself from the demons inside my head… Those are the hardest to tame." - Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like a recap than anything else.

The night before he got Crowley’s call, Sam ate for the first time in three days.

It’s been like this ever since his mom told him that she was working for the British Men of Letters. For the most part, he’s isolated himself to his room. Mary has tried to get him to open the door on more than one occasion but, as much as he hates himself for it, Sam has ignored her. 

In the beginning, the entire family continued to meet twice a day in the War Room to have a late breakfast and an even later dinner, chowing down on whatever fast food Mary brought back to the bunker. She saw it as a peace offering, but Sam knew that Dean didn’t view it as anything more than a couple of free meals. 

Eventually, Sam stopped going. He can remember the morning Dean walked past his door, only to hear those same footsteps return a few moments later when the older hunter realized his brother wasn’t coming to join them. Dean paused outside of his room for a couple of seconds, bare feet casting shadows across Sam’s floor. Then he took a deep breath and headed back to his own room.

That evening, Dean did the same thing, going to the War Room and then returning when he saw that only their mother was seated at the table. Twice more this happened before he stopped making the trip altogether.

Sam still heard him moving around, pacing, flipping cards as he attempted a game of solitaire, but he could tell that his older brother was growing restless. Dean isn’t built to go so many days without food or company and, to be completely honest, neither is Sam; he’s just more used to it.

Unfortunately, Sam’s loss of appetite isn’t the only thing that’s made a comeback; he’s having nightmares again as well. They’re no longer about Lucifer, which is, to him, a bit of a breakthrough. Instead they feature Toni, the hunter who shot him and had him tortured. 

He’s reliving every single agonizing moment of his time in captivity, down to the very last detail. He sees Jess’ face in flashes, feels the searing pain of the blowtorch tracing the sides of his feet. He tastes the ice-water as it invades every orifice, hears the whispers telling him that he’s a _freak_ , a _waste_ , an _abomination_ that should put a bullet in his brain before he gets anyone else killed. Worst of all, he feels her fingers brushing lightly across his skin, her whispers of encouragement in his ear, their sweat mixing together as they ride each other to completion. He sees the cruel grin on her face as he reawakens in that basement, feels every bit of oxygen ripped from his lungs as he realizes that his greatest fear, the one thing he thought he escaped when he was pulled from The Cage, is still very much a possibility.

And that’s when he wakes up. His mind won’t give him the chance to reach the part where Dean tries to rescue him. It stops him at that one spot, at that moment of realization, and it holds him there just long enough for terror to flood his veins. Only then is he allowed to break free of the nightmare, to jolt upright in bed, a scream in his throat.

The fourth time this happened, Sam tore himself from his bed, sheets in tangles around his legs. Terrified and disoriented, he collapsed, swearing his way through prayers as tears traced jagged lines down his cheeks. He doesn’t know when or how, but suddenly Dean was in front of him, hands clasped gently on either side of his little brother’s face. “I didn’t— I didn’t want it, Dean,” Sam tried, voice choked with sobs. “She— she made me and I— Dean, I like, I _liked_ it, Dean, I _liked_ it.” 

Dean pulled him close, fingers running themselves through his hair as he quietly asked him what he meant. 

“Toni, she—“ Sam took a ragged breath. “She did things to me, she _did_ things, and I didn’t want it, Dean, I didn’t—“ 

“Hey.” The older Winchester hugged him tighter. “You’re okay. She can’t get you here, none of them can.”

“But—“

“I know what they did to you, alright? And it’s not gonna happen, not again, you understand me?”

“No, you don’t, you don’t understand, Dean, she—“

“She, what?”

“She _raped_ me.” 

The words came out in one loud burst, and barely a moment passes before Sam starts to apologize. How dare he unload something like this on Dean, how _dare_ he. Dean didn’t want to know what Toni did to him, or at least not completely. Sam always believed that his brother wouldn’t understand or take seriously what Lucifer did to him in The Cage, which is why he never told him, so how in the hell was Dean supposed to believe that a six-foot, four-inch, 220-pound man was raped by a woman not even half his size? 

“I’m sorry,” the younger Winchester said, pulling away. “I shouldn't have— I shouldn’t have told you about, about her, I didn’t mean to—“

“Hey.” Dean gently touched a hand to Sam’s cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Don’t you dare apologize. That wasn’t you, _none of it_ was you.”

“But I—“

“Enjoyed it?” The older Winchester smiled faintly. “It’s just a reaction, Sammy. A feeling. Something that’s gonna happen in a situation like that whether you want it to or not.”

“But she—“

“Might’ve been a lady, but that don’t mean she’s not capable. Lemme ask you something, alright? Was it something you wanted?”

Sam shook his head twice. “No.”

“Then all of this is on her,” Dean said firmly. “She did it and, whether you “enjoyed it” or not, it was still rape.”

The younger Winchester’s chest tightened at the last word, but the rest of him felt relieved.

Dean stayed with him the remainder of the night, squished up next to him in the bed, one arm draped over Sam’s torso so that he’d be alerted more quickly if another nightmare decided to strike.

And that’s how they’ve spent the last couple of days, both of them hidden away in Sam’s bedroom, playing cards or watching an episode of _Attack on Titan_ on Dean’s tablet. It takes a little while, but Sam is finally coaxed into eating some refrigerated Chinese food Dean managed to sneak out of the kitchen without their mother noticing. Their lives are still a mess but, all in all, things actually seemed like they were doing okay. 

And then comes the phone call from Crowley.

Dean left to grab coffee a minute or two earlier, so Sam is alone when he hears it ring. Half irritated, half itching to find out what the demon’s been up to since they were forced to kill his son, the younger Winchester clears his throat, presses the ‘talk’ button, and says, “Hello?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The worst offenders on this planet - pedophiles, sex offenders, murderers do not get treated anywhere near as badly as the way we treat the most innocent and vulnerable beings on this planet." - James Aspey

Squatting in front of Crowley, Lucifer turns the phone on speaker and holds it in front of the demon’s face. When the King of Hell doesn’t respond, Lucifer deals him a vicious backhand. 

Crowley gasps.

“Speak,” the archangel hisses and, this time, the demon obeys immediately. 

“H-hello, Sam.”

“What do you want, Crowley?” The younger Winchester sounds annoyed. 

“Just, uh, I’m just— just checking in. As one does.”

There is a small pause, then: “You alright?”

Lucifer stifles a laugh.

Crowley shoots him a glare, but he is ignored.

The archangel lifts the phone to his own lips. “Oh, he’s fine,” he says, then drops his voice to a dramatic growl. “…for now.” He almost sounds like one of the kidnappers from that movie… what was it called, _Taken?_ Which would make Crowley Liam Neeson’s teenaged daughter.

The demon pushes up onto his elbows, listening for Sam’s response, but there is none.

The hunter is completely silent, and it takes almost a full minute for him to gather himself up enough to say, “Who— who is this?”

A smile stretches across Lucifer’s face. He’s not just enjoying this; if Crowley had to venture a guess, he’d say that the devil is _getting off_ on it as well. “I was _inside_ you, for fuck’s sake,” Lucifer chides. “You’re saying you don’t remember me?”

This time there is no response at all. This time all they hear is a loud bang as Sam’s body hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, folks, is what we'd call a trigger. For someone who has PTSD, just the sound of his abuser's voice has a good chance of sending Sam into a tailspin.
> 
> Also, school ends in three weeks, so updates will become more regular (and longer) around that time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ That's not something Dean can fix // That's gonna be a little harder to fix ~

Sam can’t breathe. 

His lungs labor to provide him oxygen but his stomach is swirling and his heart is in his throat and he just, he just can’t. 

He’s on his knees, mind on fire, trembling fingers ignoring the rubber band around his wrist and pulling at his skin instead, nails digging in, creating gashes on his temples, his cheeks, his jaw. The first bit of blood slips down his neck and a blessed coolness teases at his chest, but the feeling is gone almost immediately as his hands are torn from the ruined flesh.

 _“No!”_ Sam screams, trying to escape Dean’s grasp, but the older Winchester isn’t letting go. 

“Sam!” He shouts, then again: “Sam!” 

But the boy is unable to make a sound other than a pleading cry as tears begin to mix with the red that stains his cheeks. 

Dean pulls him to his chest, arms slipping around his back and tightening into a bear hug. He says his brother’s name again, softer this time, and it’s only when Sam finally presses his face into his shoulder that Dean notices the phone lying just a few feet away. He can see Crowley’s name on the screen, can see the seconds going by, and he feels a sudden jolt of anger when he realizes that the demon has undoubtedly heard his brother’s screams. But what could Crowley possibly have said to provoke this sort of response?

Sam cries into his shirt, cries _dean dean dean dean,_ his brother’s name the only word allowed to breach his shaking lips. He can feel the pain now, the physical pain, the valleys he dug into his face like burns from an open flame. But that’s what he wanted, that’s what he _needed_ , and _God_ does it feel good. His lungs have opened up and finally he can breathe again.

Shifting his brother in his arms, Dean reaches out and picks up the phone. Feeling Sam turn towards it, he says, “You don’t gotta listen to this, Sammy, alright? I’ve got this.” But the younger Winchester doesn’t move, just swallows hard and tightens his grip on Dean’s flannel.

“Alright.” Dean raises the phone to his ear, voice angry as he starts, “Crowley, what the hell—“

“Hey buddy.”

Sam stiffens against his brother’s chest, and this time it’s Dean who cannot catch his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is what we'd call a major anxiety attack. 
> 
> Again, yes, I know it's short. The chapters might be short during the phone call because it'll go back and forth between Sam/Dean and Lucifer/Crowley.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They're trying to drive you into the ground, to see if anything walks away." - Richard Siken

Lucifer is silent for a few moments, as though allowing them a moment of reprieve, but Crowley would bet anything that it’s just so the archangel can relish the sound of Dean struggling for air. 

The demon winces when he hears the almost imperceptible whine that he knows could only have come from Sam. To say that the Winchester brothers are doing a shite job at remaining objective would be a gross understatement.

“Oh, come on, Dean-o,” Lucifer says finally. “Just ‘cause your voice isn’t as pretty as Sam’s doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”

Dean clears his throat, the sound far too loud. “He tricked us.”

The archangel snorts as he gets to his feet. “How perceptive of you.” He tosses a glance in Crowley’s direction, but the demon just looks away. A smile teases at Lucifer’s lips. “You gonna ask me how?”

“No,” Dean says, voice cloaked in attempted defiance. 

Bones click as the devil locks his jaw. “That’s fine. We can catch up later.”

“No,” he says again.

An angry red colours Lucifer’s cheeks. “I don’t know if Sam told you, but I’m _really_ not a big fan of that word.”

“And I don’t know if Sam told _you,_ but I honestly couldn’t give a shit.”

Crowley blows air out his nose in silent laughter; Dean Winchester may be a pain in the ass, but he’s definitely got balls, especially when his brother is involved.

Lucifer’s grip on the phone tightens, but his voice is finally beginning to settle back into its usual biting tone. “Guess that panic attack got in the way of him conveying that message.”

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch—“

Groaning loudly, the archangel rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, can we _please_ skip the threats?”

“Not a fan of those either?” Dean asks, quickly trying to match Lucifer’s tenor. 

“No…” Lucifer says, toeing at Crowley’s oxfords. “It’s just, you know, I figured you’d want to use as much of the next three hours as possible.”

The demon can hear Dean lick his lips.

“Excuse me?” The older Winchester says.

Lucifer looks at his bare wrist as though consulting a watch. “In exactly two hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirty-six seconds, I’m gonna zap my pert, royal ass to wherever you two decide to hunker down, and—“

“You’re not getting anywhere near him, you hear me?” 

Sighing, Lucifer rubs tiredly at his temple. “The gesture is, as always, greatly appreciated. But I _am_ coming for him.” Unable to help himself, he makes a sound that can only be described as a self-satisfied giggle. _“Coming_ for him _._ Ha!”

“Lucifer!”

“Right, right.” The archangel nods, turning away from Crowley. “No need to fantasize. I’ll be fucking him in a few hours anyway.”

The demon’s eyes stay trained on Lucifer’s back, heart rate quickening as he sits all the way up. Any moment now, his captor will finish up his call and, while Sam and Dean have three hours to plan their defense, Crowley knows that he will not be allowed that courtesy. So, with the archangel’s gaze no longer upon him, he takes a chance and dips his hand inside his jacket. 

Lucifer clicks his tongue at Dean’s silence. “Tick tock, short stack.”

Shoes scrape against the floor, the older hunter’s “Get up, get up,” followed by a pained grunt as Sam is pulled to his feet.

“Is that him?” Lucifer asks, almost breathless. “Can he hear me?” 

“No,” Dean replies, but his voice his strained as he gently tells his brother, “Go get the first aid kit. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

The archangel raises his eyebrows, intrigued. What did Sam do when he heard his voice? Did he hurt himself? 

During his time spent in Cas’ body, he’d hung around Sam a lot, even accidentally-on-purpose walking in on him while he was getting out of the shower. The boy had been too shocked to immediately cover himself, which meant Lucifer managed to get a good, long look of him before he finally managed pull a towel around his waist. It wasn’t exactly what the archangel wanted, but he knew he had to take what he could get until the timing was right.

Even more interesting than Sam’s nakedness, however, were the scars on the insides of his arms. There were at least two dozen of them, some a faded white while others were just scabbing over. He knew from conversations with Dean that Sam was taking his renewed time in The Cage - however short it was - quite badly. Every morning, the brothers would congregate in Sam’s room, where the older Winchester would roll up younger’s sleeves and put bandages on the new cuts. Eventually bandaids weren’t enough, so he began wrapping gauze around his arms instead. They never actually talked about it but, whenever Sam was in the War Room, Dean would take the time to look through his bed and belongings to try and find whatever the boy was using to hurt himself. Each and every time, he’d find at least one knife, or one or two pieces of glass. In the end, Dean had to remove his razor from his room as well. If Sam wanted to shave, he had to do it while his brother was present. 

It could be argued that Sam’s self-harming is almost as pleasurable to Lucifer as it is if he were torturing him himself. Either way, the amount of strife he’d caused the boy in The Cage is bordering on catastrophic, which fills the archangel with absolute delight. 

“Again with the no’s.” Lucifer crosses one arm over his chest. “Sam could teach you a lesson or two. Better yet, _I—“_

“Now who’s threatening who?” Dean says, but the archangel isn’t listening to him. He’s listening to the younger Winchester’s fluttering breaths as the boy obeys his brother’s orders and leaves the room.

“Tell Sam to enjoy his freedom while he can,” Lucifer replies, “cause I’ve got a pair of assless chaps with his name on them.”

Dean’s sharp hiss is followed quickly by a _beep-beep-beep_ as he hangs up, the growing amount of taunts becoming too much for him to handle.

Grinning, Lucifer clicks the phone off and turns back around, only to discover that there’s no one else in the room. His lips curl into a snarl. There’s no denying that it’s his fault that Crowley escaped, but he’s not about to admit it. The only good thing about this is the opportunity of a chase while he’s waiting for Sam and Dean to pull themselves together. He’ll kill the demon the moment he finds him, of course, but who says he can’t enjoy the hunt? He tucks the phone into his back pocket.

 ** _Ready or not,_** Lucifer’s mind whispers, the smile returning to his face. **_Here I come…_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is a good kid, okay? He'll figure this out.  
> \------  
> Some background: I've got experience in the area of Sam's canonical problems, but there's one thing in particular that happened to me that I decided to loosely apply to him in this piece. An old coping mechanism of mine to my traumatic experience was similar to the one I have Sam using. An abusive guy (whose actions were one of the things that prompted my doing it) saw the scars and made fun of them, his comments indicating that he was enjoying and metaphorically getting off on them. That was five years ago and, understanding how damaging his words were, I decided to implement them in Sam's story. In my opinion, it's not too different from the self-destructive and suicidal responses to trauma he's already had on the show.  
> \------  
> Writing is good therapy. Maybe give it a go?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Recovery is just an eight letter word. And so is insanity. “I am fine” is just three words. And so is: “He raped me." - Nikita Gill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day until the season 12 finale.

Sam is standing next to the table when Dean enters the kitchen. His eyes are locked on the wall where the first aid kit hangs, but he doesn’t move to take it down. He just stares at it, slack-jawed, eyes glazed over, neither physically nor mentally registering his brother as the older Winchester comes up behind him.

“Sam?” Dean calls. “You, uh, you alright?” He pauses a moment, but the boy doesn’t respond. With a heavy sigh, he reaches towards him, but he’s barely skimmed his flannel when Sam lets out a shriek, arms raised defensively as he retreats to the back corner of the room.

Dean doesn’t follow his little brother, just watches for a couple of seconds before deciding it will only make things worse if he tries to approach him. Sam looks like a wounded animal, but not the kind that would attack you if you got too close. He’s more in line with an abused pup that doesn’t understand the difference between someone with good intentions and someone with those that are not. He’s skittish, confused, and, worst of all, completely resigned to his fate.

Removing the first aid kit from the wall, the older Winchester places it on the table and opens it up, pulling out some gauze, a bottle of peroxide, and a tube of antibiotic cream. Looking to Sam, he takes in the damage his nails caused. Most of the cuts are shallow, but there is one gash just over his cheekbone that is deep enough for Dean to take out a needle and some thread as well, just in case.

“Sammy?” He says the name again, more gently this time, and immediately his little brother’s eyes stop flicking about the room, choosing to lock on Dean’s face instead.

“I can’t—” Sam crosses his arms, hugging himself. “I can’t do this.” His voice is thick, fear slowly slipping through the cracks of his dissociation.

“Let’s just get you cleaned up first,” Dean replies. “We can go over the game plan after we’re done.”

The younger Winchester licks his lips. His sleeves have ridden up to his elbows, allowing him ample space to dig more holes into his skin.

Dean notices the minute he begins to scratch. “Hey, quit it,” he says, and Sam immediately allows his arms to fall to his sides.

Sam’s mind is a mess, simultaneously focusing on everything and nothing at all, thoughts trying to organize themselves in a way that makes him coherent enough to speak them aloud. The pain that was keeping him centered has all but faded away, leaving him wanting to find something, find _anything_ with which he can open up his veins. He stopped harming himself after they’d rescued the president, but that was because he thought they’d gotten rid of him, that they’d gotten rid of

_lucifer lucifer lucifer_

“Hey.” The older hunter makes an attempt at a smile. Time is quickly running out, and there’s nothing he’d like more than to start preparing for the archangel’s inevitable attack, but first he needs to get Sam back on his feet. “Will you at least sit down?”

The boy glances towards the knives next to the sink, but they’re too far away; Dean would be on him before he’d taken two steps. So he turns back to his brother and nods, ignoring his relief as he makes his way to the table and sits down one stool over.

Picking up the peroxide, Dean removes the cap and spills a little onto a small piece of gauze. He swivels on the chair so that he’s facing Sam, but he hesitates on seeing the look on his face. “I need to do this,” he says, voice level. “Those cuts are gonna get infected if I don’t fix ‘em up.”

Sam blinks at him.

_lucifer lucifer lucifer_

Dean grimaces. It seems like he’s going to have to work on the assumption that his brother won’t react in a way that will set them back even further. Licking his lips, he reaches out, one hand gently cupping the left side of his face as the other touches the gauze to a gash on his right temple.

Sam flinches at the moment of contact but, otherwise, he remains still.

The room falls into silence for a couple of minutes as Dean goes back and forth between the bottle of peroxide and the boy’s ruined skin. Eventually he hears Sam’s breathing slow down, feels him begin to relax against his touch. It appears as though he’s calm enough now to have a conversation, but Dean isn’t sure his brother will be alright with the topic he has in mind.

Dean’s conversation with Lucifer has made him both curious and concerned about a few different things, mainly what went on with him and Sam in The Cage. It’s obvious that Sam didn’t tell him everything, but he’d not had the courage or the want to broach the subject until this moment. So he takes a deep breath and, not completely sure either of them are ready for this, he begins, “That stuff Lucifer kept saying… You told me about Toni, but was she the first?”

Sam doesn’t pull away; he doesn’t react at all, really. All that alerts the older hunter to the fact that he heard him is the way his jaw his pulsates at the mention of his name. “Dean…”

“Has it happened before?”

“No!” Sam’s voice is almost accusatory as he knocks Dean’s arm away. “No, of course not! Why would you, why would you think---”

“Look…” His brother places the gauze back on the table. “I know I haven't always been there for you---”

“Dean---”

“But I am now,” he says softly, searching for Sam’s green through the hair that has fallen in front of his face. “I'm here, brother. Let me help you.”

The younger Winchester digs his nails into his left palm, but this time Dean doesn’t stop him. This tactic helped him all those years ago; maybe it’ll help him again.

“I’m only gonna ask you one more time, alright? And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…” Dean doesn’t know where to touch him, so he just keeps his hands in his lap. “I can’t have you doing this alone. You know that never works, not with us. We’re at our best when we’re together. You know that.” He watches the boy for a moment. “Sam?”

His little brother looks up.

“Was Toni the first?”

A shaky breath, then: “No.”

“Who was?”

_lucifer lucifer_

“Lucifer.”

Dean licks his lips. To say he hasn’t considered this possibility would be a lie, but it’s still a bit of a shock. “When?”

“In The Cage.”

The older Winchester closes his eyes. All of those years, those centuries, those _eons,_ stuck with an archangel whose main form of torture wasn’t what should’ve been expected. When Sam pulled Lucifer into hell, he was probably prepared to feel the lash of the whip, the burn of fire melting the skin from his bones. Yes, he was a recipient of all of those things, and more. But how could either of them have predicted _this?_

“The whole time?” Dean asks without thinking, but Sam is currently in a state in which he’d probably tell his brother anything.

“Not at first. But there was no rush.” The boy’s mouth twists into a snarl. “I mean, he _did have_ an _eternity_ to try everything out. Or that’s what he thought.” He taps his fingers one-by-one against his thumb, counting

_one two three one two three one_

“What about you?”

“I thought the same thing,” Sam replies. “But it mattered more to me that I saved you, that I was on the path to setting things right, to making up for all the evil I've done.”

For a couple of seconds, Dean is unable to speak. It’s been years, _so many years_ , since everything with Ruby, since Lilith, since the triggering of the apocalypse. The older Winchester has tried to right his _own_ self-perceived wrongs with _violence_ , but his little brother is different; he turns the gun around and aims it at himself.

“Sam.” Dean doesn’t hesitate this time, just reaches out and takes the boy’s hand. “Hey. You saved the world. _You_ did. Not me, not Cas. You.”

“But---”

“And you don't need to make up for anything. We've all done things we're not proud of. Hell,” Dean laughs, _“I_ tried to take your head off with a _hammer_ just a few years ago.” He pulls Sam’s hand to his chest, clutching it tighter when his brother doesn’t pull away. “And Cas? I mean, do I really have to give you any examples?”

It’s a morbid joke, but Sam smiles anyway.

“But none of us,” the older hunter continues, touching his free palm to Sam’s cheek. _“None_ of us deserve to go to hell.”

Overlapping Dean’s hand with his own, the boy nods.

“Good,” Dean says softly, then again: “Good.” His lips part slightly as he feels Sam’s gaze wash over his face. The emeralds eventually center, allowing their eyes to lock. Sam intertwines their fingers and, raising his hand a bit, the older Winchester brushes his thumb over his brother’s cheekbone.

With a sudden cry of pain, Sam leaps backwards, but Dean grabs him quickly by the wrist, keeping him from falling from his stool. It’s only after the younger has righted himself that older realized that the interruption was his fault: he accidentally grazed one of Sam’s cuts, the deepest of them, in fact.

They both pull away from each other, Dean awkwardly clearing his throat while Sam looks away, that small grin still on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” The older hunter says, not sure with whom he’s more irritated.

What just happened was something that has happened before, but not in a long time. After Stanford, and after they found their dad, John caught them in a position similar to this one, leaving the twenty-something-year-old men quite embarrassed. John gave them a small talk about how all of it, as strange as it sounds, makes sense. Being together with little to no outside connections was bound to prompt the brothers to act in a way that should be reserved for someone else.

After this conversation, they made an attempt to put some distance between themselves, but nothing worked. Castiel’s existence in their lives has helped a little but, no matter how flustered Dean gets around the angel, he still feels more comfortable when he’s around Sam.

During the trials, the two men managed to sit down and have a conversation about what was going on between them. It was bit stressful - more for Dean than for Sam - but they finally got down to truly discussing it. What relieved them both the most was to find out that neither of them were gunning to have sex. To put it simply, they didn’t feel that way around each other. The butterflies in Dean’s stomach when he’s with Sam are ones of love; those he gets when he’s with Cas also go in a different direction.

The younger Winchester, on the other hand, doesn’t feel that way about anyone. Not with Jess, not with Cas, and certainly not with Dean. Sam has never felt that sort of attraction before; the most he ever feels is a flutter in his chest when Dean gives him a hug or when Cas holds his hand. Sam was eventually comfortable to tell his brother about this and, later on, the angel. The former was surprised; the latter gave a small smile that said he understood.

But no matter what, no matter what trials they've been through, they remain the way they've always been: together.

Eyeing the gash, Dean picks up the needle and thread. “This alright?” He asks before starting in.

The grin slips from Sam’s expression, but he nods anyway.

“Just keep your eyes on me,” Dean says as his brother takes his flannel shirt in his grasp. “I’ll have you done in less than a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I know this sometimes worries people, I just want you to know that I won't be writing any wincest.  
> \-------  
> There are many different types of love. Sam and Dean's love for each other falls under the "unconditional" category. They are nothing more than that, or at least in this book.  
> As an aside, my personal ships can differ from what I write.  
> \-------  
> So the Dean in this story is bi beyond belief; Sam, on the other hand, is ace as heck.  
> \-------  
> You have absolutely no idea how excited I am about this book. I've got it all outlined, which means I just have to input any missing dialogue and write it all up!  
> \------  
> Also, my updates for this story and 'Drafted' will alternate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why would you need my permission?"  
> "Because if I mess it up, I don't want it to be just my fault."  
> \- Star Trek

Cas sits quietly at the head of the table, unsure of what he’s supposed to be doing.

Sam is on his left, hunched over three different books, fingers sliding down the pages as he takes in as much information as fast as he possibly can. For the most part, he’s been quiet, his only conversation with the angel consisting of a single “hey” before going back to his work.

The one who actually called Cas was Dean, who is seated in the chair to his right. The older Winchester is typing away on Sam’s laptop, just as focused as his brother but without all of the silence. Over the past half hour, he’s explained to Cas what has happened, how Lucifer is back, how Crowley is the one at fault. And the angel, to Dean’s chagrin, could not be more pessimistic.

 _realistic,_ Sam thinks as he glances up at Cas. They are both in agreement that there is little-to-no chance of beating the devil, no matter how much time they are given to prepare. But they still do what Dean asks because, even if they can’t dispatch Lucifer, maybe they’ll be able to torture him a little before everything goes to shit.

Hearing his heavy sigh, Dean’s eyes flick from the screen to his little brother. Sam is picking at lips, drawing blood as he peels away more and more skin. Dean taps a thumb against the keyboard, but eventually decides to leave it alone. However much it concerns him, at least it’s better than the alternative.

Feeling Dean’s gaze, Sam wipes his fingers on his jeans. He would feel embarrassed, but he’s a bit maxed out in the emotional sense. He’s sliding his book aside and moving to open another one when suddenly there’s a _ding-ding_ from the computer that raises all three of their heads.

When the younger Winchester first bought the laptop, he set it up so that they would be notified of any news reports involving unexplained, possibly supernatural events. And it has helped them out a lot. They have been able to kill more monsters and save more people than they ever thought possible.

That __sound, however, could also have been triggered by the facial recognition software, another application that Sam installed. He’s uploaded photos of friends, enemies, and various acquaintances, just in case any of them decide to come out of hiding or rise from the dead, both of which have obviously happened on many different occasions. They’ve received no alerts so far but, seeing the look on Dean’s face and hearing his “I--- I think I found something,” it appears that maybe the software will be of some use after all.

Sam rises swiftly to his feet, rounding the table and settling in over his brother’s shoulder before Cas is even out of his chair. Chest pressed up against his back, Sam looks at the source of Dean’s shock. It takes him a moment, but eventually he manages a just-as-surprised “Holy shit.”

“Is that…?” Dean trails off as Cas appears on his other side. Now all three of them are wearing that same expression.

Sam’s eyes scan the screen once more. “Sure looks like it.”

“But how---”

“I dunno, man. But, I mean, it makes sense.”

Dean turns to him, looking absolutely befuddled.

“The world has almost ended like half a dozen times over the past decade.” Sam shrugs. “I’d lay low too if I could.”

“But Lucifer---” Dean starts, but quickly cuts himself off when he feels the boy’s breathing hitch. He sighs. “Look, I get it, the whole ‘keeping your head down’ thing. But how do you explain everything else?”

“Guess we’ll just have to ask.”

 _“What?”_ The older Winchester says, taken aback. “The fuck are you--- why would--- no!”

Sam moves aside, leaning instead against the table. “Dean, we need all the help we can get.”

“Not like _that_ we don’t.”

“Sam is correct,” Cas cuts in.

Dean immediately swivels in his chair, fixing the angel with a gaze that can only be interpreted as him ordering his friend to _shut the fuck up. “Really?”_ He says aloud.

“Uh…” Cas replies, not completely comprehending the threat. “It would be extremely beneficial.”

Growling more with irritation than malice, the older Winchester looks back to Sam, who shrugs once more. Realizing he’s outnumbered, he concedes. “Fine. Go.”

Nodding, Cas takes a step back, and Sam isn’t far behind.

“I’ll go with him,” the boy says, but Dean catches him by the arm.

“No, you won’t.”

“Dean---”

His brother’s grip tightens. “Until we ice the devil, you’re staying right here. Look, Lucifer might not wait the full three hours.”

“He will,” Sam insists. “The more time we spend treading water, the more excited he gets.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking that chance.” Sliding his hand down and over Sam’s wrist, Dean threads their fingers together. “You need ‘cuffs?” He asks the angel.

“Physical restraints will have no effect. Persuasion and…” Cas shifts, almost uncomfortable. “...flattery will be of much more assistance.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in amusement, pulling from Sam a light chuckle.

Oblivious, the angel continues, “If I have not returned in ten minutes, continue without me.”

“Cas, come on,” Sam says. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I’d ask you to pray for me, but…” Cas trails off, fixing the older hunter with an attempt at a dirty glare.

Sam’s grin widens as Dean rolls his eyes. Reaching out, the latter slaps the angel’s ass. “Get outta here,” he orders.

The younger Winchester gives him a small salute. “Good luck.”

A scowl on his face, Cas vanishes, one hand rubbing his butt.

“Well, if anything, his sarcasm has definitely improved,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair.

Sam laughs as he walks back to his side of the table.

His brother watches him for a moment, smile slipping away as he gives a heavy sigh. “You really think this is gonna help?”

“Honestly?” The boy crosses his arms. “I don’t know. I mean, right now, we’ve got bupkis, so…” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” Dean rubs tiredly at his face. All jokes aside, they are still screwed. But if Cas somehow succeeds, this new resource should be able to help them tip the scales in their favour. If not...

“Perhaps _I_ could be of assistance.”

Their eyes dart to the opposite end of the table, and rage immediately floods Dean’s veins.

Sam, on the other hand, has gone a deathly white, fear teasing at his voice as he speaks for both of them: “Fuck.”

It’s Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who, oh, who could this mystery person be?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This story has been unbelievable and strange, but maybe this is the most unbelievable and strange part of all: I never forgot him, not really. I only told myself that I had. I forgot without forgetting at all." - R. Buchanan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit holy shit holy shit

_I'm upper, upper class high society..._

Cas can hear the music blasting before he even steps into the waiting room.

_God's gift to ballroom notoriety..._

If he didn’t know their resource so well, he’d be more than a bit bewildered.

_And I always fill my ballroom, the event is never small..._

In fact, he’s surprised the song choice isn’t more inappropriate.

_All the social papers say I've got the biggest balls of all!_

Pushing open the door, the angel finds himself in a vacant room. Even the front desk is empty, the secretary having gone Dad knows where.

_I’ve got big balls!_

Cas wants more than anything to turn the volume down, but he figures it’s a good idea not to let anyone know that he’s here yet. He needs to conduct an investigation, like Sam and Dean.

_Oh, I’ve got big balls!_

He’s done this before on numerous occasions, most recently with Crowley. The two of them were eventually forced to halt their efforts, however, when the older Winchester told them both off.

 _And they’re_ such _big balls!_

Dean sang this song once while he was showering at a motel, voice so loud the manager actually called them with a warning, notifying them that he’d received complaints from other patrons. The hunter ignored both his brother’s and his friend’s request to quiet down, continuing to scream-sing the song until Sam finally picked the lock and dragged the buck-naked Dean out of the bathroom. Cas stood stock-still for a few moments, eyes locked on the area about which the band had written those lyrics. Then Sam threw a bible at his head, the assault quickly followed by him ordering the angel to “get your gay ass over here.” They forced a blanket around Dean, covering him the best they could. With Sam straddling his brother’s stomach, hands pinning his arms to the bed, Cas touched the older Winchester lightly on the temple, knocking him out.

_Dirty big balls!_

It was the most peaceful night they’d had in weeks.

 _And_ he’s _got big balls!_

The angel heaves a sigh as he approaches the desk. Of all the things to sing about, why did that band - what was it, AB/CD - have to focus so heavily on testicles?

 _And_ she’s _got big balls!_

There is a small name card on the counter that reads ‘Nathan Wexler.’ Cas peers over the desk, as if the secretary would actually be hiding down there.

 _But_ we’ve _got the biggest balls of them all!_

Not quite knowing what to do, he turns and takes in the rest of the office. There are your stereotypical houseplants, as well as cushioned chairs and magazines, most of which are what Sam calls ‘disrespectful tabloid trash.’ 

_And my balls are always bouncing…_

Dean, of course, has begun reading them just to piss him off.

_My ballroom always full…_

Cas’ eyes suddenly catch on one of the covers, on a tan shoulder that peeks out from the bottom of the pile. He pushes the rest aside, and what he sees makes both eyebrows go up.

_And everybody comes and comes again…_

It’s Sam. 

_If your name is on the guest list..._

A shirtless Sam with blue cut-off shorts that dip just below his hips. His hands are on his head, fingers threaded through his hair as he looks off into the middle distance. The angel wonders for a couple of seconds if it is a manipulation of a less risqué moment, perhaps just his face edited onto another man’s body.

_No one can take you higher…_

But then he sees the two long slices on Sam’s inner thighs, scars from a different occasion on which he tried to kill himself. This attempted suicide was even more difficult to deal with than the others, mainly because, by the time Dean and Lucifer got to him, he had already been bleeding out for about two minutes. Another two and he would have been dead, but the archangel saved him. Two palms pressed against the boy’s legs, cauterizing the wounds.

_Everybody says I've got great balls of fire!_

Dean locked his brother in his own room for the next few days, wrists and ankles strapped loosely to the bed to ensure that the boy wouldn’t interfere with the healing process. Cas remembers how Lucifer visited him a couple of times, fingers tracing lines across his skin. Sam, however, was so heavily drugged that he doesn’t remember a second of this, which is definitely for the best for both him _and_ Cas.

_I’ve got big balls!_

Flipping the magazine over, Cas places it back on the table face-down. As attractive as Sam is, the angel has a feeling that his friend wouldn’t like it if he kept looking at it. It’s very likely that this photo was taken without his permission, maybe while he and Dean were washing the car or playing strip poker, the latter of which they only played because the angel was present.

_Oh, I’ve got big balls!_

About seven years ago, after Cas told Dean that he never had sex, the hunter did some digging. Eventually he came upon some lore that stated that some angels don’t have any genitalia whatsoever. This made things all the worse for Cas; even Sam, who he usually looked to for help in these situations, began laughing at his brother’s jokes and cracking some of his own as well.

 _And they’re_ such _big balls!_

Obviously the angel does in fact possess sexual organs, and both of the Winchesters know that. But, for some reason, they both still wanted _actual, physical proof_. And that’s where, nearly half a decade later, strip poker came in.

_Dirty big balls!_

Both Sam and Dean ganged up on him, making it so that _he_ was to be the one taking his clothes off when either of them won a hand. Unfortunately for the two hunters, Cas turned out to be incredible at poker, which was evidenced by the fact that they were down to their jeans and boxers by the time the angel was forced to remove his first shoe.

 _And_ he’s _got big balls!_

It didn’t take long for Sam and Dean to end up completely naked, which had the former shocked and the latter embarrassed. The shirtless angel looked surprisingly at ease, even though his heart felt like it was beating a million miles an hour. Recognizing his discomfort, Sam murmured that they “should probably get dressed,” to which Dean quickly stuttered, “Y-y-yeah.”

 _And_ she’s _got big balls!_

Cas, however, was not willing to give up their clothes just yet. He was enjoying this, not because it was a source of arousal, but because they looked absolutely humiliated.

 _But_ we’ve _got the biggest balls of them all!_

Doing his best to cover himself, Dean got to his feet and shuffled towards a gym bag left near the base of one of the bookshelves. Earlier that day, he had put that duffel in the Impala and driven out of the garage, parking it in a patch of sunlight. Pulling a pair of ripped jean shorts from the bag, he stripped and put them on before lying back on the hood of the car.

_Some balls are held for charity…_

Sam had mentioned to him that morning that his freckles were starting to fade, which actually managed to throw Dean into a bit of a panic. He’s been told time and time again, both by lovers and by Sam, that his freckles make his face all the more beautiful. And so, saddled with the irrational fear that the other hunter wouldn’t find him attractive anymore, Dean had decided to get a tan in an attempt to make them more visible.

_And some for fancy dress…_

He had only been out there for about fifteen minutes before Sam had stumbled upon him, immediately breaking out into a fit of laughter at the sight of his tiny shorts.

_But when they’re held for pleasure…_

Two pairs of these cut-offs were the only clothes Dean had in the gym bag so, tossing one to his brother, they both immediately put them on. But these shorts, they were meant to fit someone with _Dean’s_ waistline, someone with _Dean’s_ girth. As such, Sam couldn’t even zip them up all the way. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the only one who really seemed embarrassed about they way it had all turned out was Dean.

_They’re the balls that I like best!_

Entire face red, the older Winchester decided to return to his room and get more appropriate clothes on.

Sam slapped his ass as he turned away, prompting a loud yelp from his brother as Dean practically sprinted out the room.

_And my balls are always bouncing…_

While Dean was gone, the angel timidly asked his friend why he was okay with being naked in front of him and Dean but didn't want to pursue that possibility with anybody else.

Sam shrugged and replied, “You guys are my friends, so I feel comfortable around you. And after what happened with, with Lucifer…” He ran his hands through his hair. “I mean, I never really liked the idea of sex in the first place, especially since no one’s ever gotten me---” He gestured towards his crotch. “You know.”

Cas nodded. “I felt the same for quite a long time. But after spending years with the two of you, I finally feel something, if that makes sense.”

“Happy to hear that,” Sam said, laughing. “Mainly because now _Dean owes me fifty bucks!”_ He shouted the last five words, drawing a cry of aggravation from his brother just a few doors down.

“Cas, you _fuck!”_ The older Winchester yelled, and the angel looked to the other hunter, a bit startled.

Sam picked up Cas’ shirt and threw it back to him. “You can’t tell, but he’s happy for you,” he smiled. “He’s just a bit angry because he bet it’d take you another three years before you came out.”

_To the left and to the right…_

The angel crosses the room, towards the second of the two doors, the one that actually leads to their resource’s office. On the polished wood is nailed a plaque the reads ‘Rob Spennisad.’

Cas frowns, brow furrowed. “S… penishead?” He murmurs to himself. As far as aliases go, this is definitely one of the more inappropriate ones.

Again, however, this isn’t exactly a surprise.

_It’s my belief that my big balls should be held every night!_

Cas waves a hand, blowing out each and every one of the speakers with a loud _bang!_ He’s had enough of the penises and the testicles and the maturbratory implications of the lyrics. Besides, it’s probably time he met with the man he actually came here to see.

There is a quiet scuffle coming from inside the office, whispers of _fuck fuck fuck_ and _get your dumbass out there_ the only words Cas is able to catch.

The door bangs open and the angel jumps, suddenly very nervous, but it’s only Nathan Wexler, the secretary.

He and Cas approach the desk at the same time, the former apologizing profusely. “I do apologize for the wait, sir. I didn’t realize anyone had come in, and I--- it’s my fault, completely my fault, I’m sorry.” Nathan is absolutely flustered, both hands entangled in his hair, trying to smooth out his ruffled locks.

“It’s fine,” Cas says, then gestures towards the secretary. “You have a…” He taps a finger against his own cheek.

Nathan responds with a surprised “Oh!” and proceeds to wipe whatever it was from his skin. Looking down at the white now staining his thumb, his face suddenly goes a beet red.

The angel watches with great confusion as the secretary stammers incoherently, wondering if he should ask if he’s alright.

Rubbing his hand against his jeans, Nathan smiles, words a bit stiff as he says, “What can I--- what can I do for you, sir?

Cas glances towards the plaque. “I’m here to see Rob’s Penishead.”

The mispronunciation is almost enough to make Nathan cry with laughter, but he manages to hold in everything but an amused exhale. “It’s… it’s ‘Spennisad.’”

“Did I not say it correctly?”

“No, it’s… It’s ‘Spennisad.’ Like ‘Pen is sad,’ but with an ‘s’ at the beginning.”

Cas’ mouth opens slightly as though he means to respond, but the secretary notices his continued confusion and cuts him off, saying, “You know what? I’ll just let him know that you’re here.”

Nathan walks towards the office and opens the door before turning back to the angel. “Can I have your name?”

“It’s, uh, James Novak,” Cas replies, regretting his choice of alias the moment he says it. Sam and Dean have reminded him on more than one occasion to make sure his cover is both believable and, more importantly, only used once. Obviously this concept was lost on the angel.

“Mr. Spennisad?” Nathan calls into the room. “There’s someone here for you.” He listens for a couple of seconds, then continues, “James Novak, sir.”

Cas’ jaw pulses, a bit of apprehension creeping in. He even finds himself wanting to be kicked out. But then the secretary is telling him to “go right in” and, without a second thought, he does.

Nathan closes the door behind him, leaving his boss and the angel alone.

With a deep breath, Cas moves towards the desk and the large chair behind it, the latter of which is turned away.

Leave it to their resource to make this situation even more dramatic.

“So,” the man says, “Mr. Novak.” The chair swivels, hazel eyes immediately locking on the angel standing before him. A genuine smile is stretched across his face as kicks his feet up onto the desk. “How can I help you?"

His hair is a bit longer than Cas remembers last seeing it, and he’s actually grown out a beard. He’s also clad in a three-piece suit, heavily contrasting that dark green jacket and red button-down he used to wear. The man almost looks like a professional.

The only thing that has remained the same is that tantalizing lilt in his voice, the one that makes him likeable, or even loveable, but also promises death to anyone bold enough to cross him which, understandably, is something few have ever done.

After all, what is more powerful than an archangel?

Cas looks at him, voice like a child’s as he speaks to his older brother for the first time in seven years.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how excited I am about this.  
> \------  
> Mark Pellegrino (Lucifer) sang 'Big Balls' at one point during a convention and I'm pretty sure Gabriel would enjoy it too.  
> \------  
> Nathan Wexler was a character played by Richard Speight, Jr. (Gabriel) in 'To Appomattox'.  
> \-------  
> "Rob's Penishead" aka my 4am brain finding a way to tease one of Rich Speight's best friends, Rob Benedict (Chuck/God).  
> \-------  
> The reason I used more "anatomically correct" terms in this one was because I figured Cas would be much less likely to use the more "dirty" ones.  
> \-------  
> IF THE ACTUAL WRITERS WON'T BRING BACK GABRIEL, I'LL DO IT MY DAMN SELF.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You wanna feel the sting of this sexually confused atheist's foot up your butt?" - Audrey Jensen

Sam drops back, breath hitching as Dean tears his way across the room. He knows he should feel excited, even grateful that Crowley is here, that they’ve been given the opportunity to strangle every bit of life out of his egotistical, little body.

But he’s not.

He’s actually terrified, _genuinely terrified,_ and he has been since the moment the demon appeared in their bunker. He knows that Crowley won’t hurt him and, even if he tries, Dean will stop him in his tracks. It’s just that the very idea of someone who isn’t even _on_ the celestial food chain being capable of keeping Lucifer from being sent back to hell is legitimately concerning, to say the least.

And then there’s the fact that the archangel is back in his original vessel. There was obviously some heavy-duty magic required, and God knows Rowena wouldn’t have helped him out with that, if he’d even gotten up the courage to ask.

Worst of all, however, is the way Sam found out. To hear his lilting voice on the phone, to hear his obscene flirtations and threats of _I’ll be fucking him in a few hours anyway_ and the way his forked tongue curled around the promise _I’ve got a pair of assless chaps with his name on them_ is enough to make the boy go insane. And that can’t happen again. It _can’t._

“You hearin’ me, Sammy? Toss me the knife!”

The younger Winchester looks over to see his brother extending one hand in his direction, the other arm pressed against the throat of the demon he has shoved up against the wall.

Crowley’s eyes are so wide it almost looks comical. But he’s not scared enough, not yet. He will be within the next few seconds though, if Dean has his way.

Sam turns back to the table, fingers stuttering across the wood as he fumbles for the demon blade.

_pick it up idiot pick it up_

Finally, he manages to get a grip on it and, in one swift motion, tosses it across the room.

Dean catches it in the air and swivels it, leaning even harder against the demon’s body as he slides the knife between his ribs.

Crowley’s scream is breathtaking. It is agony and terror and desperation twisted into one absolutely horrific sound. He is perched up on his toes, fingers curling around the edges of the older hunter’s jacket, no longer trying to escape but rather focusing his attention on making an attempt to drown out the pain.

A grin stretches across Dean’s face, and his skin has grown red with an ecstasy Sam has only seen twice in his entire life: while he was afflicted with the Mark of Cain and during rough sex.

The younger Winchester has witnessed the latter on more than a dozen occasions, which begs the question as to whether they were all accidents or if Dean simply gets exhilarated by the possibility that he will get caught. Either way, it’s been the source of a great deal of jokes, mostly with Sam making some sort of comment about his brother’s technique or, more recently, the question as to whether he’s really capable of satisfying his partners with “a cock the size of an undercooked stringbean.”

Twisting the knife, Dean pulls yet another cry out of the demon as the blade goes even deeper, stopping only when the hilt locks against his side. “You sorry son of a bitch,” the older Winchester murmurs, laughter peppering his words. “You think you can just let the devil loose and there won’t be any consequences?”

“Please---” Crowley gasps, but Dean just cuts him off.

“Your goddamn mother purposely fucks up Lucifer’s cage match with Sam, and when we finally _\- finally -_  manage to clean up your mess, you decide to _save him?”_ The hunter jerks the blade free, only to raise and shove it back in one rib higher. “What were you thinking, that you could _use_ him or something? ‘Cause I think we sorted that one out when he _fucking possessed Cas.”_

The demon tightens his grip. “I don’t believe you are understanding the _gravity---”_

“Of this situation _?”_ Dean pulls the knife back and lifts it up to Crowley’s throat. “Buddy, I understand it just fine. Sam and I, we’re gonna finish what we started. Unfortunately for _your_ sorry ass…” He digs the blade into his skin, drawing both blood and a bit of red smoke. “ _You’re_ not gonna be around long enough to see it.” Wrapping his free hand around Crowley’s throat, he winds the knife back.

“I like revenge as much as the next Stark bastard, but do you really think that's a good idea?”

Sam swivels on his heels, air escaping him all at once as he stumbles away from the second intruder. But then his gaze locks on the long hair, on the hazel eyes and teasing grin, and his first response is actually to smile. “Gabriel,” he says softly.

Releasing the demon from his grasp, Dean slides his glare across the archangel’s relaxed form. His fingers twitch and play at curling into fists. He’s still angry, that much is obvious, but the question is which of them is going to be on the receiving end of it.

“Dean,” Gabriel says, stepping away from Cas. “Sam.” He slips his hands into his pockets and waggles his eyebrows. “Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long. My life has been a bit hectic these past few weeks, but I'm hoping to have this entire piece finished up soon. Thanks for bearing with me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's hard to be with another person when you can't get out of your own head." - Abel Gideon

Sam recognizes Dean’s intentions before he even begins to move. He steps in front of Gabriel, hands up as he tries to catch his brother’s gaze. “Listen, okay?” he says. “You don’t like him, and he doesn’t like you either. But you have to put all of that on hold, at least for right now.” He takes a few steps forwards, speaking gently. “We need him, remember? We need him.”

It takes a moment, but the anger eventually slips from Dean’s face, prompting the younger hunter to lower his arms. “Alright.” His eyes are still locked on the archangel. “But if he fucks this up for us---”

Gabriel chuckles, cutting him off. “As if you guys haven’t fucked this up enough already.”

“Hey, we had  _ nothing _ to do with this.”

“Really?” The archangel furrows his brow in mock confusion. “Huh. It’s just, you know, every time the world has gone to hell, you guys have been the ones responsible, so…”

Sam turns to him, ignoring Dean’s warning growl. “What has Cas told you?” 

“Enough.” Gabriel glances in his little brother’s direction. “Lucifer’s out, he’s coming for you, etcetera, etcetera.”

Sam’s hands shake as he tries to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “We need…” He takes a breath.  _ “I  _ need your help.”

“Of course you do. I mean, I’ve never been in the box myself, but I’m guessing it wasn’t too pleasant.”

Sam ducks his head, heart aflutter, but Dean is beside him in an instant, fingers interlocking with Sam’s own. 

The archangel gives them both a look, somehow managing to express both disgust and intrigue almost simultaneously. “Are you guys…  _ doing  _ it?”

“Gabriel!” Cas says, more than a little embarrassed.

His brother shrugs. “Just wondering.”

Cas opens his mouth, looking as though he’s going to scold him, but instead he pauses and, after couple of seconds, turns to look at the hunters, an obvious question forming at his lips.

Dropping away from Sam, Dean scoffs incredulously. “No!” 

For half a second, the younger Winchester almost looks offended, but Gabriel is the only one who notices. 

“You seem pretty insulted,” the archangel says, crossing his arms. “What, is he not good enough for you?”

Dean’s mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Wh--what?” He stutters, the words tripping over each other. “No, I--- No, I didn’t mean to--- why would you think---”

With an exasperated sigh, Sam interrupts, “You know what? Enough. We’ve only got…” He looks down at his watch and his face grows a little bit paler. “...one hour and fifty-three minutes before he shows up.” His eyes lock on the archangel once more. “Gabriel?”

His annoyance is clear, but Gabriel still nods and says, “Fine. Fine, I’ll help you. But once he shows up, I’m gone.”

Sam allows himself a slight smile. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t thank me yet.” He gestures towards the table. “You wanna sit down, or…?”

Cas immediately complies, as does Sam. Dean, on the other hand, takes Crowley by the collar and lugs him to his feet before sitting them both in the chairs directly across from the other men.

Gabriel, ever the drama queen, remains at the head, leaning against the table as though he’s a general deciding how to protect his base. Which, Sam supposes, is  _ exactly _ what he’s doing. “So,” the archangel begins. “What do we have to work with?”

“Our angel blades,” Cas says; Dean adds, “And the Colt.”

Sam and Gabriel lock their jaws simultaneously. “Which we know won’t do jack-shit,” the latter replies. “Anything else?”

The younger Winchester tries to think, tries to come up with something, to be of  _ some  _ sort of help in stopping what’s about to happen. Crowley was obviously the one at fault, hiding

_ lucifer _

away until he could find some use for him, but what’s happening right now? The hell that is about to rain down on all of them isn’t due to the demon’s lapse in judgement. They are all going to die -  _ Dean  _ is going to die - and it’s all

“My fault.”

“What’d you say?” 

Sam glances up to see Gabriel looking at him, and his face immediately flushes in embarrassment at having been heard. He wasn’t even aware he’d spoken aloud.

The archangel’s gaze holds him for a couple of moments; his hazel eyes are narrowed in concern.

**This ain’t on you, kiddo.**

All of the air escapes Sam at once, focused not on Gabriel’s reassurances but rather on the fact that yet another voice is invading his mind. Out of habit, he tries to lock all of his thoughts and feelings away, but it’s too late. The archangel already has a hold on him, and he’s not letting go.

_ please _

**Sam, what the hell?**

_ get out get out of my head _

“Alright.” Gabriel raises both hands, and it’s only then that the younger Winchester realizes that he’s on the floor, his older brother cradling him for the second time in one hour. 

“I’m fine,” Sam says as he pulls free of Dean’s grasp. “I’m fine.”

All of them - even Crowley \- look more than a little worried, but then there’s the simultaneous thought that they can’t stop, not now. They have to find a way to, at the very least, hold the devil off. And, as the boy is helped to his feet, they realize that if they have to carry Sam’s weight as well, that’s what they’ll do. 

“The kid’s been through enough,” Gabriel says, his gentle tone so in contrast to his usual demeanor that at first Dean doesn’t realize that the words were directed at him.

The older Winchester returns to his seat next to Crowley, watching as Sam finds his own chair beside Cas. “He’ll be alright.”

Gabriel taps at the blade he has hidden in his sleeve. Frankly, he thinks that Dean’s opinion is total shit; even worse, he’s positive that Dean feels the same way. 

“Is that it?” The archangel asks, trying to draw them back to their earlier conversation. “Two knives and a gun?”

Dean licks his lips. “I don’t think---”

“Shit,” Sam says suddenly, drawing the others’ attention. “Ramiel.”

Dean’s gaze locks on him immediately. “Ramiel,” he repeats, a grin pricking at the corners of his lips. “Shit.”

Glancing from one hunter to the other, the archangel calls, “Hey. Thing One and Thing Two. You mind sharing with the class?”

Normally the older Winchester would be irritated by his tone, but he’s growing too excited to care. “We have something. Something we can use not just to hold Lucifer off, but to  _ kill  _ him.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Lance.” Sam smiles up at him, his first real smile since they spoke with Lucifer. “We have Michael’s Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been dealing with a lot of shit.
> 
> \-------
> 
> Also: I'm going to finish this book before finishing 'Drafted.' It's just too difficult to keep jumping back and forth, making sure the timelines and characterizations are correct, etc. Then I'll start the second book in this series.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fetching objects for people who are too lazy to fetch them for themselves is never a pleasant task, particularly when the people are insulting you.” - Lemony Snicket

“You’re shitting me.”

The joy on Sam’s face is gone in an instant, and confusion at the archangel’s words quickly takes its place.

“What?” Dean asks, speaking for both of them.

“Really?” If Gabriel could raise his eyebrows any higher, they'd vanish beneath his hair. “I have to spell it out for you?”

The hunters side-eye each other, as if to confirm that neither of them understand what he’s trying to say. And they don’t, they don’t understand, which prompts the archangel to sigh longer and harder than he probably has in those last seven years.

“You have on-call the _only_ _weapon_ in the universe capable of smoting the devil, the _only_ _weapon_ that was made _specifically_ to knock big bro on his ass, and you just… _forgot_ about it?” Looking to the younger Winchester, he gestures towards Dean and Cas. “I mean, I expect this from _these_ two cockgobblers, but Sam, come on, you’re better than this.”

Crowley has to fight to keep himself from laughing. Having only ever heard stories of Lucifer’s youngest brother, he’s both surprised and titillated at how often Gabriel mocks the three men. Or two, rather. For some reason, he actually seems to have a liking for Sam; from his previous display of concern for the downed Winchester, it looks as though the boy actually holds a special place in his hollow, tin chest.

“Where is it?” Gabriel asks finally, and Dean leans back in his chair.

“Somewhere safe.”

Hazel eyes narrow at the comment.

“Shit.”

The whispered curse finds its way into the archangel’s ears and, this time, his glare is directed at Sam.

“What _now?”_

The younger hunter replies immediately. “It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

Sam hesitates on seeing the anger that begins to seep into Gabriel’s expression. Noticing this, Cas takes over.

“Crowley broke it.”

“To save _your ass,_ you fucking _prick,”_ the demon hisses, leaning towards the angel.

Dean takes him firmly by the shoulder and pulls him back into his seat.

 _“Point is,”_ Sam says, steadying himself, “we can’t use it.”

Closing his eyes, Gabriel breathes in for four seconds, holds it for seven, then releases it in eight more.

_breathing exercises_

**A-plus observation skills.**

The boy’s thoughts quiet for a moment, but he doesn’t fall into another panic, so Gabriel decides to ask what seems like an important question:

**Is this alright?**

_it’s it’s it’s fine_

**Liar, liar, trousers aflame.**

_it’s just it’s just the only other person who’s been inside my head is is is_

**I know.**

Silence for a few seconds more, then:

_thank you for not saying his name_

**Whatever makes you comfortable, sunshine.**

Sam’s cheeks redden at the nickname, and Dean notices almost immediately. An intense jealousy travels from his heart into his fingertips, but his tightly curled fists relax only when he hears Crowley murmur, “Go after the pretentious bastard and you might actually manage to convince everyone that you are, in fact, doing your brother.” And then Dean is blushing as well, much to the amusement of the others at the table.

“Alright, enough with the foreplay,” Gabriel says as the two men try to settle themselves. “I think… I think I might be able to fix it.”

Sam’s voice shakes a little, but he still manages to get out a “how?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty well-versed in archangel lore.”

The joke pulls a slight smile from the boy’s lips.

Gabriel directs his gaze towards Cas and, tone like one might use when speaking to a puppy or a small child, says, “Hey, Lassie, you mind fetching us the Lance?”

Annoyed blue eyes flick to Dean’s green; as excited as the angel is about having his brother back, taking the orders of someone who’s abandoned him for almost a decade isn’t something he enjoys. But, at the hunter’s nod, he vanishes immediately, still wearing a look of vague irritation.

At Cas’ disappearance, Gabriel hoists himself up onto the table, accidentally brushing his ass against Sam’s fingers as he does so.

Sam pulls away and drops both hands into his lap.

The archangel actually looks like he might sent out a telepathic apology, but Dean cuts off any potential thought processes.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Life. After my run-in with big bro, I fled the country. Moved to Australia, actually.”

“Australia?” Sam repeats, and the archangel nods.

“Sure. Figured I’d spend some time chillin’ out with my creations.”

 _“Your_ creations?” The other Winchester says incredulously.

“That’s right. In the Beginning, Dad was a bit swamped, what with trying to figure out how to mold a group of non-compliant, ugly-ass apes into more decent, slightly better-looking apes.” He gives a pointed look at the two humans. “That’s you all, by the way.”

“Yeah, we got that.”

“Anyway,” Gabriel continues, “I helped him out a little. Dingos, platypi, flying duck orchids…”

Both amused _and_ immensely curious, Sam crosses his arms. “Flying duck orchids?”

“One of my first. Cute little bastards, but they kind of freaked Dad out, so he drop-kicked them over to the great down undah.” The archangel speaks the last three words in a horrific Australian accent.

Dean first fixes Sam with a glare - the boy’s smile drops on seeing it - and then turns it on Gabriel. “So you spent the last seven years surrounded by your furry friends while the rest of the world went to hell?”

“Actually, I’ve been back for about eight months.”

“And why’s that?”

“Dad called.” Gabriel pulls both legs up onto the table and tucks them underneath each other, sitting cross-legged. “Told me there was a potential demon problem going on in the White House.”

Crowley releases an outrageously loud snort, prompting everyone to look his way. “Oh, come now,” he says accusingly. “Don’t tell me the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.”

Sam glances over at Dean, but the older Winchester ignores him.

The King of Hell isn’t off-base; the thought that the candidate who eventually became president is a demon _has_ crossed their minds. And they  _did_ investigate, sorting through files, articles, and video segments. They listened to that infamous audio clip, or at least Dean did. Sam could barely sit through the first ten seconds before edging towards an anxiety attack.

They also impersonated security guards and police officers; one time they even drove past the president’s former home in an ice cream truck while one of his sons was standing outside. They had a brief conversation with the kid, acquiring nothing more than a bit of empathy for him. Sam and Dean know what it’s like to grow up with a narcissistic bastard for a father. All they can hope for is that man’s son doesn’t follow in his footsteps.

Both Winchesters have experience in that area as well.

Days turned into weeks as they went back _decades_ to see if they could find a sudden change in the president’s demeanor that would indicate demonic possession. But there wasn’t one. As they eventually discovered, it appears as though he’s _always_ been that way.

And, voice tinted with disdain mutual to Crowley’s, Dean tells the archangel just that: “Look, we all know the president is an absolute shitstain, but it’s got nothing to do with demons. That’s just who he is.”

“Well, _obviously,”_ Gabriel says, tone implying that the hunter is an absolute idiot. “But Dad wanted me to check it out just in case. And the First Lady is kinda hot, so…”

Everyone’s eyes go wide at the same time, their simultaneous attempt to ignore the way the archangel seductively bites at his lip an abject failure. An uncomfortable “wow” is the most Dean can get out, but the awkwardness is quickly dissipated when Sam suddenly cuts in, “Hold on a second.”

Tapping out the beat to

_heat of the moment_

on his thighs, Gabriel swivels to face the hunter.

“Chuck knew you were alive and didn’t tell us?” Sam asks, betrayed.

“Uh… why would he?”

His voice is laced with sarcasm. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we sort of had a problem about a year ago with The Darkness?”

“Oh yeah, Auntie Amara!” Gabriel grins. “You know, she’s really not all that bad. It’s just the vibe she gives off.”

Sam catches him by the wrist, stopping the archangel’s pattering fingers before he gets to the chorus. “Yeah, well, she was the reason we had to summon Lucifer in the first place.”

Gabriel slips free of the boy’s grip. “So last year you decided to fight your Big Bad with a Slightly Smaller Bad.”

“Told you it was a bad idea,” the older Winchester says pointedly, to which Sam, with an exasperated sigh, starts, “Dean---”

“Arguing is pointless.”

Both humans jump at the sound of Castiel’s voice, the younger even releasing a gasped “shit” when he feels the angel’s hand fall on his shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” Gabriel says, and all of them can see Cas’ mouth twitch in annoyance at the comment. Nevertheless, he still offers no rebuttal, simply placing the Lance on the table.

Dropping back to the floor, the archangel faces his cohorts. “Alright, kiddies.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's got two thumbs and also got triggered while listening to that audio clip? This non-binary pal!  
> \------  
> In the words of a long-lost post, I pity the John Winchester who lost his wife; I despise the John Winchester who abused his sons.  
> \------  
> Continuation of that last statement: If you want to argue with me on this, by all means, go ahead. I welcome it. Just be forewarned: I will pull out all the stops.  
> \------  
> As (I believe) I said previously, there will be no blatant shipping in this book. I will hint at Sastiel, Destiel, Wincest, and Sabriel, but that doesn't mean that any of them are actually going to occur. I am, however, always willing to talk about my personal ships.  
> \------  
> It was an online post from which I discovered the idea that Gabriel had helped create some animals. Finding them weird as hell, God dumped them in Australia. For the comic that helped inspire this, I've included the link. Scout, the artist, is incredible, and I encourage reading as many of her comics and looking at as many of her drawings as you possibly can.  
> http://tinyurl.com/y7ynzgvv


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All the palace chambers are not lovely, light, and bright. In the walls of our hearts and brains, danger waits. There are holes in the floor of the mind." - H.L.

Sam clinks his spoon against the rim of the bowl as he turns yet another page of yet another book. Milk spills off of the metal and onto the table, but he quickly wipes it up with the heel of his palm. Lucky for him, Dean didn’t see; if he had, he’d probably scold his little brother for wasting food.

About twenty minutes after they all began their research, Dean got up from his seat and left the room. Sam didn’t consciously notice his absence until a glass bottle and a plastic bowl were thumped down in front of him. 

Beer and Lucky Charms. Great.

Leaning back in his chair, the younger Winchester gave Dean an almost teasing smile. “What, no more two-week-old Chinese food?”

“Yeah, no, mom took everything when she left.” His voice was void of any sarcasm, putting Sam at a loss. “There wasn’t much to begin with, but…”

“She  _ stole  _ from us?” The boy said, shocked. 

Dean crossed his arms. “Looks like it,” he shrugged. “The only reason she didn’t take  _ this _ crap was because I had both hidden in my room.”

“Well, uh, I’m good.” Sam pushed the cereal and beer away. “Thanks anyway.” He turned back to his book, but the older hunter immediately slid it out of his reach. “Dude, what the hell?” He protested.

“You don’t eat...” Dean replied firmly. “I’m taking this away.”

Sam scoffed, but his brother just kept looking at him until finally he rolled his eyes and picked up the spoon.

Almost an hour later, he’s still only halfway through, swirling the marshmallows around until every once in awhile Dean gives him a look. 

And that’s what the older Winchester would be doing right now, had he seen the milk that briefly pooled on the table. Instead he’s watching Gabriel.

The archangel is on his knees with the broken Lance laid out on the floor in front of him. He’s got one hand raised over the stock, and his open palm is enveloped in light, revealing Enochian symbols that Michael had burnt into the wood.

“Hey, dickbreath.”

Gabriel doesn’t look up right away. He takes a slow, deep breath, eyes closed as though he’s trying to settle himself. In the beginning, he was easygoing and relaxed. He might even have been a little bit excited. But, as the minutes have ticked on by, his face has grown darker. He’s angry. Whether it’s due to how long this is taking or the simple fact that he’s unhappy with what he’s doing is anyone’s guess. But what Sam knows - and Dean should too - is that nothing good can come from how close the already short-tempered archangel is sending them all back into a new and improved Groundhog Day or TV Land.

Snapping his hand shut, the light goes out, taking the Enochian symbols with it. “What?” He asks Dean, tone clearly telling him  _ do not fucking test me. _

But of course the older hunter doesn’t read him properly; or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. Either way, he closes Sam’s laptop and replies, “Finished yet?”

Gabriel locks his jaw and, this time, they all see it. “ If I was finished, don’t you think I would’ve told you?”

“Well, what’s taking so long? It’s been---”

“Seventy-two minutes,” Sam says quietly, interrupting them both. “That means we’ve only got forty-one left until---”

“Hey.” Dean reaches one hand out, but his little brother instinctively pulls away. Brushing aside what he knows is not an intentional slight, he continues, “Listen to me. We’ve got this.”

Cas and Crowley exchange unconvinced glances while Gabriel looks on with interest. There is no longer any pity in the latter man’s expression; that ship sailed long ago.

“But---” Sam starts, but he’s cut off once more as Dean adds, “And you don't gotta worry about seeing him again. I’ll shiv his ass myself.”

Gabriel raises a hand. “Uh, actually…”

Turning in his seat, the older Winchester locks his eyes on the archangel. “Actually,  _ what?” _

_ “He  _ has to be the one to do it,” Gabriel replies, nodding in Sam’s direction.

The moment he sees the gesture, the younger Winchester is on his feet, chair scraping back across the floor.

Dean stands as well, trying to make his stance as unthreatening as possible as he asks, “Why?”

Not to be left behind, Gabriel mimics the two humans and gets up from the floor. “ Michael made the Lance to kill Lucifer, but it can  _ also  _ kill pretty much everything else.”

“Yeah, we kind of figured that out when we took out Ramiel.”

It’s all the archangel can do not to give Dean a sarcastic two thumbs up. “Good for you. But demons are an easy mark. They’re dead the moment you nail them. Angels, on the other hand, are a bit more difficult.”

The older Winchester crosses his arms. “It worked on Cas,” he says, voice accusatory, as though he’s caught the man in a lie.

Cas’ lips curve into an o-shape and he looks over at Dean, offended.

His friend shrugs. “Well, it  _ did.” _

“He’s talking about _arch_ angels, you imbecilic buffoons,” Crowley snarls, feeling too overwhelmed by his companions’ lollygagging and stupidity to remain silent. 

An amused grin pulls at Gabriel’s lips for half a moment.  “Rumplestiltskin is right. Since the Lance was  _ made _ for an archangel, it works  _ differently _ for an archangel.”

_ no _

Sam sees Gabriel’s eyes flick in his direction, feels his coarse fingers prying slowly at his thoughts.

_ don’t _

The archangel pulls back and Sam takes a small breath before deciding to meet his gaze. “How so?” He asks, but he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Gabriel clasps his hands in front of him. “ The Lance can only kill big bro if it’s wielded by his own kind.”

“So  _ you  _ do it,” Dean says.

“I think the fuck not.”

Insulted, the older Winchester takes a step forwards, but a quiet “Dean, please” from Sam is enough to keep him from venturing further.

Not looking the least bit worried, Gabriel continues, “There  _ is  _ one other option.” 

_ is it _

A slight nod of confirmation and suddenly Sam is awash with terror. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This was  _ never  _ how it was supposed to go. One and done. That’s what the angels said. Lucifer breaks out; the Winchester brothers shove him back in. And yet

**Here we are.**

“His vessel,” the boy says finally. “You need his vessel.”

“Correctamundo.” The archangel smiles, and this time he holds it. They’re fucked -  _ Sam  _ is fucked - but  _ he _ looks almost...  _ cheery _ . Perhaps it’s joyfulness at not having to be the one to do the dirty work, or maybe he’s just gone back to despising the boys. Either way, Sam knows that the gesture is only intensifying Dean’s rage. 

But if Gabriel notices the older hunter’s change in demeanor, he doesn’t react. He just continues, eyes on the boy. “The only human who can kill  _ Michael _ is  _ Dean _ . And the only human who can kill  _ Lucifer _ is…” He points at Sam a bit too dramatically, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

What little cereal the younger Winchester ate twists his stomach, some even reaching up high enough to burn his throat. “Me,” he breathes. “Oh God.” He drops back, wavering, but Cas is there. 

The angel moves in from behind, chest just skimming Sam’s flannel as his hands press firmly against the boy’s ribs, steadying him. Lips scant inches from his ear, Cas murmurs words of comfort, but there’s really no point. Sam doesn’t appear to hear a word he’s saying.

And Gabriel, in all of his pompous idiocy, says to Dean, “Sorry, hotshot. Sammy-boy’s the only one who can take him out. And with him all…” He points at his own temple and makes a few circles with his finger. “It looks like your chances have definitely tanked.”

Sam, even in his stupor, recognizes the way his brother locks his jaw. “Dean---” he starts, but he’s far too late.

With a great roar, Dean rushes Gabriel, arms wrapped around his waist as he rams him into the wall. 

Air knocked out of him, the archangel loses his grip on the blade he had tucked in his sleeve. It’s barely clattered to the floor before he moves to reclaim it, but Dean has already picked it up.

Cas starts forwards, intending to help, but Sam grabs him by the arm. Confused, he looks at him, but the boy still isn’t all there. Feeling the grip on his jacket tighten, Cas decides to stay where he is. The other two men will just have to fight it out by themselves.

Eyes locking on the weapon in Dean’s hand, Gabriel tackles him to floor. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice the foot that the hunter has shoved against his chest until he’s already in the air. 

Having been knocked on his back, Dean simply flips the archangel up and over his head, grinning when he hears Gabriel hit the floor behind him. The smile is wiped from his face, however, the moment he turns around. A fist slams against his jaw, sending him sprawling a few feet away, the blade somehow still in his grasp.

Sam pulls on Cas’ bicep, and that’s when the angel is ripped away from him. Silver flashes across the boy’s vision as Gabriel steps into his space.

**Sorry about this.**

_ what are y _

A shocked cry bursts free of Sam’s lips as the archangel kicks out one of his knees, forcing him to the ground. Pure and absolute panic fueling him, the hunter grabs at Gabriel’s clothes.

_ no _

But the archangel simply knocks his hands aside and slides Cas’ angel blade beneath his chin.

_ no no no please no _

Gasping, Sam reaches for his arm, but he barely manages to take hold of his sleeve before the archangel unceremoniously takes a handful of his hair and pulls. Hard. Tears of pain prick at his eyes as he tries to drive away any fear and confusion in an attempt to calm himself down. His mind, however, refuses to allow him that courtesy, because it thinks it recognizes what’s going on.

And, to be honest, it does.

Right now, Sam is on his knees in front of a man, in front of an  _ archangel,  _ head yanked back hard enough to lift his chin so that he can see his attacker. His nose is a hair’s breadth away from yet another brown belt, yet another gold buckle. And then there’s the weapon the archangel has pressed against his neck. The blade teases his skin, not yet drawing blood but promising an unspeakable agony if he tries to pull away.

In The Cage, Lucifer would take him in a variety of positions, brutally raping him until the boy was shaking or bleeding too much to go on. But before the devil did any of that, he would force Sam into the same exact position he’s in right now. He would unbuckle his jeans, take the younger Winchester by the hair, and shove his cock into mouth.

It’s taking everything in Sam’s power to try and remember that this time it’s not Lucifer; every fiber of his being is screaming for him to understand that. But it’s all too close, all too similar to what he’s been through with Lucifer that it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t fall apart. 

And when Dean presses the archangel’s own blade against Gabriel’s throat, he’s not doing it just because he fears that Sam is in danger. He might only have recently found out about what happened to him in The Cage, but that doesn’t mean he’s an idiot. The expression on his little brother’s face is enough for him to know that, if Gabriel doesn’t back off soon, they might be picking up the pieces of Sam’s mind before Lucifer even shows up.

“Gabriel,” the younger Winchester manages, but the archangel just gives him a look of mock pity as he replies, “ Again, I'm sorry, but  _ do _ value my  _ own _ life a  _ bit _ more than yours.”

Anger roils in Dean’s stomach he glances from his little brother to Gabriel, but he does his best to keep his face as neutral as possible. He  _ will  _ threaten the shorter man; there’s no arguing that. But he’ll have to be civil about it, or at least until Sam is safe. “Let him go,” he says finally, and he’s proud to hear that his voice doesn’t shake.

Gabriel flips his hair out of his face. “You use that same negotiation tactic with Lucifer?” He asks, eyebrows raised. When the older Winchester doesn’t answer, he gives a small laugh. “No wonder it didn’t work.”

“I’m gonna kill you, I swear to God.”

“The effort you're putting into this is inspiring,” Gabriel lavishes sarcastically. “You got anything else for me, Mr. Cohen?”

A growl vibrating at his lips, Dean takes another step forwards, weapon pressing more firmly against his adversary’s skin.

But Gabriel just rolls his eyes and tightens his grip on Sam’s hair.

“Dean---” the boy chokes out, and that’s when his brother’s phone begins to ring.

_ Blow me a kiss from across the room… _

The older Winchester’s mouth opens a little but Gabriel barely notices, so amused is he at the song choice.

_ Say I look nice when I’m not… _

“Uh,” Dean says, voice hitching. “Sam, could you, uh…”

_ Touch my hair as you pass my chair… _

Nodding, the boy hesitantly raises a hand. When Gabriel doesn’t retaliate, he reaches out further, fingers eventually finding their way into his older brother’s pocket. Taking the phone in his hand, he reads the caller ID; it’s exactly who he thought it was.

_ Little things mean a lot. _

Sam looks up at Dean. “It’s mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering how little we know about Michael's Lance, I took the liberty of inventing a bit of lore surrounding its powers. Because what would be the fun in making things easy and letting Sam duck out of another confrontation with Lucifer?  
> \--------  
> The way I see it, Gabriel can be happy-go-lucky until he finds himself inconvenienced. His continuous provoking is canonically too much for Dean to handle, resulting in verbal/physical retaliation. In this instance, Gabriel knew that threatening Sam's life was the only thing that would keep Dean from trying to shove his own angel blade down his throat.   
> Gabriel can be sympathetic, but his main goal in absolutely everything is self-preservation.  
> \--------  
> References:  
> 1\. Mr. Cohen - Herb Cohen, a famous negotiation expert  
> 2\. Dean's ringtone for Mary - 'Little Things Mean A Lot' by Kallen Kitty, the #1 song from the year Mary Winchester was born


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's hard to wake up from a nightmare if you aren't even asleep." - j.s.

It's two more rings before Dean holds out one arm, waiting for Sam to hand over the phone.

Adam’s apple catching on the angel blade, the younger Winchester hisses softly as he places the phone in Dean’s hand. Of all the times for their mother to call, of course she chooses the moment the three men are literally at each other’s throats. Sam watches his brother’s fingers close around the device. Are they to spend whatever conversation he is about to have still in this position? One of them has to back off eventually and, as much as he hopes it won’t be Dean, he’s almost positive that, even if the human retreats first, the archangel won’t kill him. Hurt him, perhaps; but he won’t kill him.

**You sure about that?**

Or not. He’s been wrong before.

Dean, after one more glance in his brother’s direction, allows his arm to fall to his side. He fixes Gabriel with a look, waiting for the other man to release Sam and step away before finally clicking the ‘answer’ button and pressing the phone against his ear. Retreating to obtain some privacy, Dean waves the blade at Cas, motioning for him to take over.

Gabriel uses the point of his brother’s weapon to scratch at his leg as his gaze falls on the younger Winchester. “Sam, listen---”

“Don’t.” Sam rocks back on his heels. He can still feel phantom fingers twisting through his hair. “Just don’t.”

Before Gabriel can even think to form a reply, Cas shoves him out of the way and steps up to his friend. “May I help?” He asks softly, and Sam nods. Taking him gently by the hand, he helps the boy to his feet.

A faint red colours Sam’s face as his friend cups his cheek and runs his thumb gently over the bone. “Cas, I’m fine,” he says, embarrassed. All he really wants to do is wave away this reaction to his fear as soon as possible. He’s been coddled enough already.

The angel looks unconvinced, but still he acquiesces to his request. Turning around, he squares up with his older brother, a heat in his words like neither Sam nor Gabriel have seen in a long time. “We asked for your assistance - _Sam_ asked for your assistance - and you gave your word that you would comply until Lucifer arrives.”

Gabriel raises a finger. “Technically, I didn’t actually _promise---”_

Cas grabs him by the shirt, nails gouging holes in the material as he pulls the archangel into his space. “It does not matter that you are my brother,” he says, voice low. “If you come near him again, I will kill you.”

Gabriel doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. If anything, he actually looks impressed. Hazel eyes glancing up at the other man’s blue, he smiles. “You got it, Neeson.”

“Thank you,” Cas replies, releasing him. “Now give it back.”

Flipping the blade around so that the hilt is facing his little brother, Gabriel hands it over. He waits a couple of seconds for Cas to tuck it back into his sleeve, but there’s no point.

Cas declines to put the weapon away, instead keeping his fingers curled tightly around the pommel; the trust lost when Sam was taken captive is obviously not returning anytime soon.

Arms crossed, Gabriel’s gaze flicks towards Sam. “I _am_ sorry,” he says again. “Thing is, Dean would've gone right through Cas to get to me.” He shrugs as if to say that this reasoning is justifiable enough for his apology to be accepted. “It had to be you.”

Sam takes a deep breath in an attempt to settle his emotions. He’s been through this before, receiving apologies that were made for no reason other than to brush an unsolved problem aside. Sometimes they’ve even been used to try and assert power over him. The younger Winchester can easily reference his earliest interactions with Lucifer as proof of that. And now Gabriel is doing it, which, of course, should have been expected. But Sam is sick of it. He’s sick of being used as a pawn in the games of not only one, but _two_ archangels.

If they didn’t need him so much, Sam now knows for sure that he’d kill Gabriel himself.

“Look, I… I trusted you, you know?” The taller man says, words tinged with the slightest bit of anger. “I was the only one who trusted you. But hey.” Sam manages a bit of strained laughter, nails scraping at skin dangerously close to the gash Dean sewed up just a few hours earlier. “I’m usually wrong when it comes to that sort of thing anyway, so…”

Cas touches lightly at the corner of Sam’s flannel and the boy drops his arm.

**All I’m trying to do is**

_shut the fuck up_

Startled, Gabriel’s jaw drops a little. “What did you just say to me?” He asks aloud.

“You heard me.”

The archangel scoffs. He looks over at his little brother, but Cas just shrugs, the gesture telling him _you’re on your own with this one._ Gabriel goes to form a response, but he’s unintentionally interrupted.

“No, _you_ listen to _me,”_ Dean says, but he’s not talking to anyone in the room. His biting tone is actually directed at his mother. “If you think there’s any way we’re helping you with whatever shit you and the Bitch-Ass Men of Letters are dealing with, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Sam moves swiftly around Cas with the intention of joining the conversation, but Gabriel gets in his way. The taller man practically bares his teeth in aggravation.

The archangel raises both hands, showing that he means no ill will. “Let him work out the mommy issues himself. We’ve got a job to do, remember?"

It takes Sam a moment, but eventually he nods stiffly and steps back and out of Gabriel’s way as the celestial being returns to his project.

“You _stole_ from us,” the older Winchester continues, still oblivious of the three pairs of eyes watching as he paces the room. “You _abandoned_ us for the sons of bitches who tried to have me and Sam killed.” His voice quiets a bit, but he’s still loud enough for everyone to hear what he says next. “Do you know what they did to him? What _she_ did to him?”

Feeling Cas’ gaze, Sam glances away. Pity is the last thing he needs right now.

“Just…” Dean subconsciously curls one hand into a fist. “Just answer me one thing. Why did you leave?” He waits a moment. “Alright, so they needed you. What for?” There’s another long silence as he turns his eyes to the ceiling. “A vamp nest? Really? _That’s_ the story you’re sticking with? There’ve been no vamp sightings in _months_. The only Big Bad we’ve got on tap at the moment is---”

Dean cuts himself off, the sudden realization like a punch to the stomach. It takes his mind nearly a minute to clear before he is capable of breathing out a soft “oh.”

Raising his head, the younger Winchester’s brow furrows at his brother’s drastic change in tone.

_what is he_

“You knew,” Dean says, the accusatory tinge to his voice returning. “You knew he was back.”

It takes a couple of seconds but, the moment his words register, Sam feels like the ground has gone out from beneath his feet.

There’s no way. There’s no way it’s true, there’s no way, absolutely not. Mary might have lied to them, she might even have betrayed them, but she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t not tell them that the most sadistic being they’ve ever fought is back, alive, well, and walking the earth. And just because she doesn’t know what the archangel did to him doesn’t mean she would have such an incredible lapse in judgement.

After all, she’s their mom. And their mom wouldn’t lie to them. She _loves_ them.

Right?

Sam doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until he feels Cas’ fingers press lightly against his spine, his breath starting to even out at the angel’s touch.

“Don’t lie to me,” the boy hears Dean say and, though his vision is a bit cloudy, he directs his gaze back towards his brother.

“You were gone this morning, _before_ he called Sam.” Dean listens to her reply then scoffs. “So you _do_ care. That’s nice to know. But it’s a bit late, _mom.”_ Mockery layers the final word. “Maybe if you’d told us sooner…” He looks back to his compatriots, but pauses when he sees his brother staring at him.

Sam watches the anxious bob of Dean’s adam’s apple, watches as he gestures towards Cas before reluctantly turning his back on the group.

A soft hand takes hold of the boy’s tricep. “It would be in your best interest not to listen to this,” the angel says gently and, much to his relief, Sam allows himself to be led away from his brother and back to the opposite side of the table. But before they can sit down, Gabriel suddenly pops his head up and shouts, “Got it!”

Angel, demon, and human all watch with cautious curiosity as the man stands up and places the broken Lance on the table.

Arms wide, Gabriel waits for some sort of congratulatory remark. Realizing after a couple of moments that the men are going to remain silent, he knocks on the table as though trying to get their attention. “Don’t look so excited, guys. It’s not like I just figured out how to slay the beast or anything.”

Sam bites nervously at his lip. “Alright, so you, uh, got it working?”

“Well…” the archangel clears his throat and Crowley immediately rolls his eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” the King of Hell scoffs, “lying to this plaid-slathered moose just after you threatened his life. What do you think he’ll do to you? What do you think his _brother_ will do to you?”

As if on cue, Sam leans towards the archangel, but Gabriel quickly backs away, one hand raised.

“Okay, look, I know you’re still upset, but I know what I’m doing,” Gabriel says hurriedly.

“Do you?” the younger hunter asks, the _don’t lie to me_ clear in his voice.

“I do. The only reason I haven’t fixed it yet is because I don’t have all the ingredients.”

“Alright.” Sam nods and crosses his arms. “What do you need? We’ve probably got most of it somewhere in the bunker.”

“Not everything.” The archangel touches at his jacket, the movement so brief that Sam is the only one who notices.

The Winchester narrows his eyes slightly, but he opts not to mention what he saw. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well, a feather from Michael, for one. You got any of those lying around?”

“How do _you_ have one?”

Gabriel’s fingers twitch.

_is that what you have in your_

“How about it’s none of your fucking business,” the archangel says, cutting him off. He won’t allow himself to be interrogated.

And Sam, for all the frustration he harbors towards the other man, doesn’t press. “Got it. I’m just going to let Dean know before we do anything else.” Turning around, he’s suddenly propelled backwards as his brother runs into him. “Dean, what the hell?” Sam says, but he quickly trails off when he sees the desperate look on his face.

“It’s--- it’s mom,” Dean starts, grabbing at his little brother’s arms. “We were talking and then she just, she just---” He takes a deep breath, but the words he’s searching for refuse to appear.

Not waiting for him to try again, Sam pulls him close, wrapping him up in a bear hug. “Hey,” he soothes. “Hey, Dean, it’s okay. Don’t speak; just breathe. Listen to my voice and just breathe.” Sam runs his hand up and over the back of the other man’s head, fingers brushing over and through what little hair he has. “Take your time,” he says softly. “When you’re ready.”

Dean heaves against his brother’s shoulder, runny nose dampening his shirt. “He took her, Sam,” he tries, voice muffled. “Mick went missing and now there’s a bunch of new people at their base and she said that they--- they put her on probation and weren’t letting her leave but she---” Another breath. “She found her phone in Ketch’s room after they, after they…” He pulls back a bit, just enough so he can see Sam’s face. “I heard her scream. I heard the phone drop and I heard her hit the floor or the wall or the---”

Sam touches a gentle hand to his brother’s cheek and forces a nod, encouraging him to go on.

“I knew it was Ketch.” Dean pulls at Sam’s flannel. “I knew because he picked up the phone and said, ‘I suppose you have a choice now. Mommy or the freak. Better choose quickly. I hear neither of them have much time left.’ And--- and then he hung up.”

The younger hunter can barely stop himself from pulling away.

_freak_

He doesn’t realize his nails are digging into Dean’s back until his brother flinches and gasps a surprised “Sam.”

“Sorry,” he says tightly.

“It’s fine,” Dean swallows and drops back. His fingers find Sam’s own and they quickly intertwine. “But listen; I’m not leaving you, okay? Mom is important, but _you…”_

The younger man nods and tightens his grip. As guilty as he feels admitting it, he knows he’d abandon their mom too, if only it meant saving Dean.

Clearing his throat, the older Winchester faces the rest of the group. His face is pink with embarrassment at having been seen in what he considers a state of weakness. He looks to Cas first, saying, “You and…” He glances over at Gabriel but, feeling Sam’s elbow nudge, turns reluctantly towards the King of Hell. “...Crowley. Go find our mom.”

Immediately Cas’ mouth opens in protest, but he’s not allowed to get a single word in before Dean matches his green eyes with the angel’s blue and says softly, “Please.”

With a long sigh, Cas crosses to the opposite side of the table. Standing behind Crowley, he looks from Dean to Sam. “I’ll be back,” he promises, but everyone in the room knows that this is an oath he probably won’t be able to keep.

Crowley releases an irritated growl as the angel puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bollocks,” he sighs, and then they’re gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary is in some deep shit.  
> \--------  
> Sam and Dean are in deeper shit.  
> \--------  
> Lucifer really isn't in any shit at all.  
> \--------  
> I'm going to make a promise to you guys: I will post a new chapter at least twice a month. I know that doesn't seem like a lot, but I'm working my writing around my school schedule so that's the best I can do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I’ve heard someone once say that if you think you can do something but you’re not sure, you should try. Like, if you really don’t think you can do it, okay fine. But if you think you might be able to do it, go for it, you idiot.” - Ben Mendelsohn

Dean clears his throat, roughly wiping away any tears still staining his cheeks. He’s trying to right himself, trying to steady his emotions, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that all of this is starting to become just a little too much.

Sam notices with some pity that his brother’s eyes have grown red and puffy. Whatever anger he harbours towards their mother has taken a back seat, but still it lingers, ready and prepared to let loose the moment Mary shows her face. For now, however, all Sam can see in his expression is overwhelming worry and guilt. Thanks to both mother and little brother, there is a lot resting on his shoulders. Sam gently caresses Dean’s hand with his thumb, doing his best to soothe him. For the first time today, it seems  _ Dean _ is the one who needs  _ his  _ help.

It takes the older Winchester a few moments, but finally he speaks. “Alright, what’ve we got?” He asks, and Sam gestures towards Gabriel.

The archangel gives him an irritated glare. “I know how to fix it,” he says, “but you skunk apes don’t have all the shit I need, so I’m gonna have to go off-site for a little while.”

“How long?”

Annoyance still lingers in Gabriel’s gaze as he turns it on Dean. “Does it look like I’ve done this before?”

A muscle in the hunter’s neck tightens, as does his grip on Sam’s hand.

“Don’t worry, I work fast,” Gabriel assures. “I’ll be back before he shows.” He goes to pick up the Lance, but he’s barely retrieved the first piece when the younger Winchester suddenly pulls away from Dean and snatches up the second.

Offended, the archangel rests his half against his shoulder. “What, you don’t trust me?”

Sam gives him a look.

“Yeah, okay.” Gabriel’s eyes flick from one Winchester to the other. “Will you feel better if I cross my heart? Pinkie swear? Maybe if we spit on our palms and shake hands?”

“Gabriel…” Sam starts, but he’s quickly interrupted.

“You don’t come back,” Dean says thinly, “we’ll let him know you’re alive.” His fear is still in place, but he’s finally managed to regain his threatening tone, and for that Sam is grateful. They are very nearly at the end of the line, and there’s no way either of them are capable of handling it alone. 

The archangel shifts his weight onto his other foot. “I’m not afraid of my brother."

“You sure about that?”

Scoffing, Gabriel decides to look to Sam instead, as if he believes that the boy would actually side with him.

But the younger Winchester just crosses his arms, a barely perceptible smile on his face as he replies, “What he said.”

Gabriel’s fingers tighten around the wood. This second standoff is even more imbecilic than the first. All three of them know that he could easily knock Sam on his ass and pull the Lance right out of his hand. It would be, at its most difficult, like taking candy from a baby. And yet he doesn’t, because all three of them also know that falling back on violence will only succeed in causing a greater division in an already shaky alliance.

“Alright, look,” the archangel scoffs. “To be completely honest, I don’t know why I’m doing this shit for you in the first place, especially since Luci is involved.”

Eyes wide, Dean sputters.  _ “Luci?” _

“You forgave him?” Sam adds incredulously. “After what he did to you?”

“Really?” Gabriel says, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

The archangel raises his free hand to his ear, miming a telephone. “Uh, hello, kettle? This is Sam. You’re black.”

Dean’s lip curls into a snarl, but Gabriel just waves the reaction away. “Forgiveness really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” the latter explains. “I don’t need to hate my brother to appreciate the idea of good Old Testament revenge.”

“But you won’t kill him,” the older hunter replies flatly.

_ “Hells  _ no. You remember what happened last time.”

“Fine.” Dean crosses his arms as he turns towards Sam. “Then  _ we’ll  _ do it.”

The boy gestures vaguely with the weapon, a pained look on his face. “Dean, come on.”

“Sam---”

Gabriel places his free hand on the younger hunter’s wrist, and immediately Dean falls silent. “I think what the kid is  _ trying _ to say is that you’re a moron. You’ve already had two strikes.” The archangel cocks his head at the older human, tightening his grip ever-so-slightly. “You know the odds you’ll hit that third pitch out of the park? Not good.”

Rage coiling in his stomach, Dean moves in, his own fingers curling possessively around his brother’s other forearm. “Well, you wanna know what  _ I  _ think?”

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me.”

Sam feels the vibrations of Dean’s warning growl and pulls sharply away from both of them. “Guys, come on. We’ve got like half an hour ‘til he shows up.” Eyes on the archangel, he asks, “Is that enough time?”

Gabriel shrugs, not hiding his irritation. “I guess it’ll have to be.”

The older Winchester nods. “Keep your comms on.”

“Will do, Dean-o,” he replies with a mock salute, then takes the other half of the Lance from Sam’s outstretched hand. Then, with an overly flirtatious wink, he’s gone.

The two remaining men are quiet for a couple of moments. This is it. In just over thirty minutes, Lucifer is going to show up and try to take from them what he believes is rightfully his. And every tiny bit of hope either of them might’ve managed to scrounge up now rests on the shoulders of a flighty archangel who, for all they know, was lying when he assured them that he knew what he was doing. Even if he  _ was  _ telling the truth, who’s to say that he’ll make it back in time, or if he’ll even come back at all? Either way, they’re alone, and God only knows that one old gun and a couple of fancy blades aren’t going to keep them from getting killed or possessed. 

Sam can feel every bit of that thinly cloaked terror making its way up his spine, and he looks to his brother, catching for the briefest of moments an expression that proves that Dean is just as afraid.

“C’mon,” the older Winchester says eventually, and Sam narrows his eyes.

“What are we doing?”

“Setting a few traps.” Dean smiles with a bravado he does not feel. “No reason we can’t make this difficult for him.” When the boy doesn’t respond, he adds softly, “You with me?”

Sam clears his throat. “Yeah.”

His brother claps him on the arm. “Then let’s go.”

“How about you, uh...” The younger hunter takes a deep breath. “You start getting some things together. I’ll look through a few books and see what I can find.”

Dean hesitates for few seconds before finally offering up a reluctant nod and leaving him on his own in the War Room.

Sam watches him go, watches his bowlegs and perfect ass disappear from view before turning back to the notepad he was using earlier. Tearing off and tossing aside the used slip, he picks up a pen.

_ i’m sorry dean _

He presses the point against the paper and begins to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're ready and raring for Lucifer to make his entrance, and I'm here to tell you that you've only got one more chapter 'til he shows his sadistic ass. Y'all ready for this?  
> \-----  
> Everyone in this book is in for so much shit and I am SO fucking excited.  
> \-----  
> Who's got two thumbs and is going to New York Comic-Con on Friday? This low-budget cosplayer!  
> \-----  
> Also... season 13 is incredibly soon. Anyone else sorely unprepared?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done."  
> "No guilt."  
> \- Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader suggested that I maybe give a peek at what's been going on with Lucifer while Sam and Dean have been trying to figure out a plan. The next chapter will still be updated this month and will most likely be hella long.

“Are you going to light that?”

Lucifer sighs, nearly dropping the cigarette he has amateurishly caught between his teeth. 

It’s been incredibly boring these last few hours, what with having to wait so long to filet the older Winchester and caress and possess the younger. He probably should’ve just popped over to the bunker right after the phone call, but that would just be taking all the fun out of what he plans on doing. Even the thought of the two brothers scrambling to put together a plan is enough to make him cackle with glee. 

And that’s what he would be doing right now, if Crowley hadn’t escaped. Not being able to kill the King of Hell has put a bit of a dampener on the whole situation, especially since he can’t even go after him. Crowley is with Sam and Dean, or at least he was about twenty minutes ago. The demon and some angel - most likely Castiel - left the bunker for someplace in Michigan. Lucifer would normally go after them, but it’s too close to what he knows will be a satisfyingly bloody victory over the Winchesters.

“S-sir?”

With an exaggerated groan, the archangel looks towards the black-eyed creep standing a few feet away. Lucifer himself is back were he was when Crowley first discovered his escape: on the throne, legs kicked over one of the armrests. The only difference now is the cigarette he’s decided to sport, and it isn’t even lit.

“Do I  _ look  _ like I carry a lighter?” He says finally.

The demon looks a bit perplexed. “I just thought you could… use your finger or something.”

Lucifer takes the cigarette out of his mouth, choosing instead to hold it cooly between two fingers. “For the last fucking time, I burn  _ cold,  _ not hot.”

“So… you can make ice?” It says without thinking.

Flipping his legs back in front of him, the archangel leans forwards. “You want me to set something on fire?” He asks pointedly. “‘Cause I can set something on fire.”

The demon’s hands immediately go up. “N-no, no, that’s fine. I can f-find a lighter.”

“Nah.” Lucifer slumps back on the throne. “These things give you cancer.” He flicks the cigarette at the creature, who catches it in two cupped hands. “Get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir,” the demon says, then quickly bows before scurrying out of the room.

The throne room is now completely empty, save the vaguely irritated archangel still slouched in Crowley’s fancy, Dark Ages-themed chair.

Pulling the King of Hell’s cellphone out of his pocket, Lucifer checks the time. Less than ten minutes to go. By now the Winchesters are probably in a state of panic, if they weren’t already. Maybe Sam is even having another anxiety attack, palms pressed against his head as he tries and fails to slow his breathing, tears trailing down his cheeks at the knowledge of what is going to happen to him.

Lucifer can’t help but smile at the thought.

Little Sammy Winchester is so very fucked in every way possible, and he only has eight minutes left to prepare himself.  


"Caress and posses," the archangel murmurs for the fourth time in two hours, and laughs proudly at his dumb rhyme.

**_Oh, yes. This is going to be_  so much fun.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight minutes left.   
> \------  
> Clearly, Lucifer has no idea how to smoke a cigarette. That makes sense though, considering how I have no idea how to either.  
> \------  
> Since plans changed and I added a chapter (which I still loved writing, by the way), we've still got one more part until Lucifer shows up at the bunker.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am certain of you. I might never know how I want to get my hair cut, or what sneakers I want to wear to the gym, or what to order when I go to a restaurant. I might never be able to make a basic decision. I have been uncertain about things for almost twenty years, but there is one thing I have never been so certain about before in my life and that is you. I am certain of us. I am certain of you.” - Anonymous

Over the past half hour, Sam and Dean have barely spoken more than a dozen words to each other. The biggest conversation they had is a soft request for the younger man to “pass the spray paint” and an answer of “pink or red?” to which older man replied that he’d like to use the former.

Dean took care to spray an angel trap on the floor of almost every room. In Sam’s bedroom he even painted one on the ceiling above the doorway. The likelihood of Lucifer going in there was slim to none, but it still made the hunter feel a bit more secure in the case of Sam’s wellbeing. After he was finished, he walked back into the War Room, gaze immediately settling on the shape of his brother preparing another set of bullets for The Colt. They know from the past that Lucifer cannot be killed in this way, but that’s not to say it won’t hurt the archangel or buy the hunters some time. 

In total, Sam expands their collection to thirteen bullets.

It’s when they have five minutes remaining that the brothers cease their efforts. Tucking the loaded Colt into the back of his jeans and the remaining bullets into his jacket pocket, Dean leads the way down the main hall. Much to Sam’s dismay, Dean’s plan entails him hiding out in the surveillance room until Gabriel returns with The Lance. The older Winchester himself will distract Lucifer in the War Room as long it takes for Sam to enter and shove the weapon through the archangel’s back.

Clearly, the younger man has some problems with this idea, but it’s not as if he has a better one.

“You gonna be alright?” Dean asks, breaking the silence.

“When he shows up?” Sam scoffs. “Well, considering the fact that we're gonna lose... no, not really.”

The hunter’s face looks a bit pained at his little brother’s words. “We’ve sent his ass to hell before.”

“Once,” the boy replies stiffly. Eyes cast towards the floor, he notices that they are, like always, walking in unison. He tries to change his pace and throw them out of sync, but it doesn’t work. “In case you haven’t noticed, the second time didn't work out so well.”

Dean grabs him by the arm, stalling them both. “Hey,” he says. “We did our job. He's only still here because of Crowley.”

Sam looks at his brother’s hand, at the tan fingers clutching his elbow. This could be one of the last times he ever feels his touch. He takes a breath, warding the thought away. “He’s going to kill you, Dean.”

“He can try.”

“He's an archangel. A single glance and you're dead.”

The older hunter releases his grip and crosses his arms, not noticing his brother’s quiet gasp at the loss of contact. “He’s never done that before.”

“Because he likes playing with his food,” Sam replies. “But right now there's only one thing on the menu.”

“...you.”

The boy nods almost imperceptibly. “I want you to do me a favor, Dean. If it comes to it---”

Immediately, the other hunter raises one finger, a clear signal for him to stop talking. “Sam---”

“Let me finish,” Sam orders, and his brother quiets, if only for a moment. “If it comes to it, if I die, you have to burn my body.”

The anger and frustration on Dean’s face is indescribable. “You can't expect me to---”

“It's the only way to ensure Lucifer won't survive on earth.”

“But Cas---”

“Wouldn't have lasted much longer than he did. You saw him. You know it's the truth. The only one who can hold him is--- is me.” He tugs at his shirt, memories half a decade old scraping at the corners of his mind, begging him to remember. “And that can't happen, not again.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment. Once Sam has made a decision, especially one like this, it’s nearly impossible to change his mind. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try and, as much as he hates himself for it, he’s going to bring out the big guns for this. “You could end up back in The Cage. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says breathily. His discomfort is evident, but he won’t allow himself to be swayed.

“With him.” The older man allows a lengthy pause before restating, “With  _ Lucifer.”  _

The inflection is obvious, but still the boy replies, “I know.”

“And what happened before---”

“Could happen again, I  _ know.”  _ Sam realized that possibility the moment Gabriel told them how the Lance worked. Yet, in the end, he’s still deciding to risk it. “But Lucifer will be gone. Forever. And if that's what it takes…”

Dean shakes his head adamantly. “We'll find another way. We always do.”

“And how does that work out for us?” The boy sighs. “Look, Dean, I don't want to die.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Sam ignores the comment, continuing, “If we can beat him, great. I'll buy you a case of beer and a new Friday the 13th DVD.”

“Two cases, and you have to watch it with me.”

“Fine. But if I die---”

“That’s not gonna happen,” the older man says, tone indicating that he considers the statement a fact.

“Dean---”

“If you die,” he says, cutting him off, “I'm gonna hunt your ass down and force you to watch it with me anyway.”

Sam smiles, albeit for a brief moment, which prompts a faint grin to appear on his brother’s face as well. “I hate that movie.”

“I know you do,” Dean says, the barest bit of laughter in his voice. Then he claps Sam on the arm and, gesturing towards the end of the hall, adds, “Alright, now, get outta here.”

Sam takes briefly him by the sleeve, mimicking his brother’s actions from just a minute or two earlier. “I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

Sighing deeply, Dean remains where he is. “Look, you’re right, okay? Lucifer don't give two shits about me. But he’s not gonna do anything, not until he gets his hands on you.”

“He’ll just use you as leverage.”

“Not if Gabriel gets back here within the next…” He glances down at his watch. “Three minutes,” he reads, quietly cursing, “Shit. Guess we’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“Or I could go out there instead,” Sam counters, desperation paling his face. “Keep him distracted until you have the Lance.”

“You heard Gabriel. Without him, without Michael, you’re the only one who can do this.”

Eyes downcast, the boy habitually reaches towards the wounds that litter his face. Before he can even put nails to skin, however, Dean gently calls, “C’mere,” and Sam allows himself to be pulled into his brother’s arms.

Face buried in the worn, green jacket, Sam whispers, voice cracking, “I’m not strong enough.”

And immediately Dean’s heart breaks. He’s thrust back in time to that moment outside the abandoned church, to that moment inside the psychiatric ward, to that moment where he himself said those same words to his little brother:  _ You’re not strong enough.  _

The two of them have been through so much over the past few months, not to mention years, and is this how it’s going to end, with a sentence that has been following both men for nearly a decade?

_ No,  _ Dean thinks - or  _ forces _ himself to think - and pulls back, taking Sam’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he says; then again, “Hey.” 

The boy’s green eyes flicker, eventually connecting with Dean’s own.

“How many times how you beaten the devil?” The older Winchester begins.

He fingers the lining on the other man’s jacket as he answers, “Three.”

“And how many times has  _ he  _ beaten  _ you?” _

Sam hesitates, startled at the question. He’s always come from one direction on this, that the damage Lucifer has inflicted on him makes him the lesser one, the weaker one, the loser. But, going back to the beginning of it all, the amount of times the archangel has won is actually

“Zero.” Dean pulls him closer, enough that he can feel his brother’s hair tickling his face. “You hear me, Sammy?  _ Zero.  _ Every time you face him, you wipe the floor with his ass. Last year, when you were in The Cage, did he want to possess you?”

The younger Winchester nods.

“And what did you say?”

“‘No,’” Sam says, with a slightest bit of defiance. “I said ‘no.’”

“That’s right.” The smile on Dean’s face is not one of humor this time; it is one of hope. “That’s right, you said “no” and kept right on fighting. And you gotta do the same thing today.” He takes his brother’s hand and clutches it to his chest. “Promise me.”

The response is quiet, but it’s still there: “I promise.”

“Atta boy.” Dean pulls him back into a hug, eyes closed as he takes in the way his brother’s hands feel _ (Warm) _ , how his breathing sounds  _ (Light) _ , what his cologne smells like  _ (Me) _ .

“Jerk,” Sam murmurs into his neck.

Dean’s grin only widens. “Bitch.”

They remain like this far longer than they should; but, at the same time, it isn’t nearly long enough.

The older Winchester is the first to pull away. He takes a deep breath and says, “See you on the other side.” Then, without waiting for a response - partly because he’s not sure he’d be able to handle it - he turns and begins walking in the direction from which they came.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says suddenly, and his brother looks back at him. The boy smiles. “Kick it in this ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's thinking "but Dagon broke The Colt," just remember that the timeline is different here.  
> \------  
> My view on the "true vessel" thing is that, yes, while Cas/Jimmy was able to hold Lucifer longer than other vessels, it still ended up deteriorating, just at a slower pace. Sam is the only one who can hold him for an extended amount of time. Then again, I suppose season 13 might make it clear if Nick's empty vessel will really be able to hold Lucifer for infinity.  
> \------  
> The three (big) times Sam defeated Lucifer: season 5's 'Swan Song,' season 7's hallucination, and the cage match in season 11.  
> \------  
> The whole "Friday the 13th DVD" thing was a jab at Jared Padalecki, who was one of the protagonists in the 2009 remake of Friday the 13th.  
> \------  
> Lucifer is coming back in the next chapter. Y'all ready for this?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She had this look in her eyes that made you wonder just how many people she’s killed. And this grin that made you realize she’s probably lost count.” - Anonymous

The waiting is the worst part.

There’s only another... Dean’s eyes trail the second hand around and past the ‘six’ on his watch... twenty-seven seconds until Lucifer shows his face, and yet it feels like an eternity.

He glances towards the security camera in the corner of the room and gives a small thumbs-up. He can only imagine Sam rolling his eyes in response, muttering something about how his big brother isn’t taking this seriously.

But he is, he _is_ taking this seriously. The real question is, what’s the point? It’s quite ironic, really. No more than two minutes ago, he was encouraging Sam to keep his chin up, and now he’s actually finding himself leaning in a much more pessimistic direction.

 _realistic,_ he can almost hear the boy say, and he sighs. It’s not conducive for either of them to be thinking this way, no matter how much evidence supports the belief that death and possession are nearly upon them.

“Shit,” Dean says suddenly, and dips his hand into his jacket. Pulling out a pair of wireless earbuds, he puts one of them in and returns the other to his pocket. He originally bought them for Sam’s birthday as a sort of joke; the younger Winchester found the idea of wireless earbuds absolutely abhorrent, and would ramble on about how moronic the idea was every time he saw them featured in a commercial.

But now, as it turns out, those those little slices of evil will actually come in handy. Sam called him the moment he made it to the surveillance room, and Dean picked up on the cell phone he currently has tucked in his back pocket. Now, with his hands free, he’ll be able to fend off Lucifer while still keeping in contact with Sam.

“Testing,” Dean says, unnecessarily tapping the earbud. “Testing. One, two---”

“Three?”

The hunter turns around immediately, just managing to keep himself from prematurely reaching for the Colt.

_Lucifer._

The last time Dean saw him in this shape, they were in Limbo, beating each other half to death in Crowley’s makeshift version of The Cage. Close to a dozen different possessions later and he’s back in his original vessel, looking exactly the same, albeit a bit more refreshed.

The excitement in his expression is unnerving, to say the least.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, fingers waggling in a sort of wave. “Where’s the beanpole?”

Dean keeps his gaze steady, lips locked tight. As is evident from the past, replying will only encourage him.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind the silence. “Let me guess,” he hums, rubbing at his chin. “He’s off somewhere, finishing setting up whatever traps you've got scattered around this sardine can.” He goes to take a step forwards, but hesitates on seeing how still Dean has gotten. He looks down and immediately breaks into a huge smile. “Speaking of which…” With a wave of his hand, the floorboards in front of him splinter and crack, corrupting the enormous angel trap that lies scant inches away.

With unnecessary care, the devil steps over the bright pink line of paint and raises his eyebrows at the older Winchester. But when Dean doesn’t respond, the grin falls from his lips. “You know, this whole conversation thing is gonna work a lot better if you talk to me.”

“Sam said you like to play with your food,” the hunter replies without thinking, and his brother’s hiss of _dean_ in his ear is enough for him to realize the error he made in engaging in conversation.

“Did he now?” Lucifer’s smile is back. “He's not wrong. Look, don't be offended, but it's baby brother I'm more interested in.” His gaze flicks towards the surveillance camera. “Heya, Sammy.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but Dean still hears his brother’s soft gasp through the headphone. “Hey,” he calls out in warning; the archangel just licks his lips. “Hey!” He says again, louder this time, and Lucifer looks over at him with vague irritation at having been interrupted.

“Sorry,” the devil whispers lustily. “He’s kind of distracting.”

“Well, quit it.”

“Why?”

“He’s my brother.”

“And he’s my bitch.” Lucifer crosses his arms. “What’s your point?”

Dean can feel his blood beginning to boil. “You don’t own him.”

“Neither do you.”

“What?” The hunter replies, not understanding.

“You boys ever sit down with a therapist, talk about your, uh…” Lucifer clears his throat loudly and taps his ear, referencing the headphone. “...codependency issues?”

A hot red floods Dean’s skin. “We’re _related.”_

“And we can have the whole ‘why it’s wrong to do your brother’ convo later. But for now---”

 _“You’re_ telling _me_ what’s right and wrong?” The older Winchester cuts him off, further closing the distance between them. “You _raped_ him.”

“It’s not rape if he enjoyed it.”

“You know damn well that’s not true.”

“Maybe.” Lucifer shrugs. “But who cares? He got off. And, more importantly, _I_ got off.”

“And left him so fucked up, it took us _years_ to pick up the pieces.”

“Not my fault your angel BFF plucked him out of the box.” The archangel steps back and away from the hunter, not quite ready to escalate to physical violence just yet. “If you had just left us alone, none of this would be happening. At the very least, you could’ve opted out of stuffing his soul back into that delicious, little vessel. _You_ get yourself a lean, mean killing machine, and _I_ get a fuck buddy for all eternity. That way, we all win.”

For half a second, Dean’s right hand tightens into a fist. He’s mentally revisited this situation on multiple occasions, most recently while Gabriel was deciding whether or not he’d be able to fix the Lance. And he hates himself for even contemplating the same exact thing that Lucifer is suggesting, for believing for even the briefest of moments that the younger Winchester would be better off without his soul. But, in the end, he always returns to the knowledge that they made the right choice.

Loosening the tension in his shoulders, the hunter finally replies, “Everyone except for Sam.”

At that, Lucifer groans, the dramatic roll of his eyes clearly implying his distaste for Big Brother Dean. “The kid’s greatest talent is knowing how to use his tongue. You should’ve let him stick to that and gone hunting by yourself.” Watching the other man’s face, he eventually sighs, tone softening as he continues, “C’mon, Dean. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound tempting. You wouldn’t have to worry about a snot-nosed, smart-ass kid getting in your way. He’s a distraction, Dean, a worthless tag-a-long who has gotten you killed hundreds of times over the past twelve seasons.”

The older Winchester furrows his brow. “Seasons?”

“Years.” Lucifer gestures aimlessly, waving away his misstep. “I mean years. Point is, you’re better off without him. He’s not your soulmate. He doesn’t belong to you. Hand him over to someone who knows how to take care of him. I won’t possess him,” he says, hand raised in a scout sign. “Honest.”

The hunter turns his head away, eyes darting towards the security camera.

“Come on, Dean.” His voice has gone low and gentle. “Do the right thing. Do what’s best for _you.”_

Dean’s gaze remains on the lens for a long moment as he tries to imagine what Sam is thinking. Is he staring at the screen, unable to move? Is he scratching at his face again, ripping the stitches out and tearing new holes in his flesh? Is he even breathing?

He looks back to the archangel and takes a deep breath. Those thoughts, however intrusive they are, will have to wait. “You’re right,” he says, and Lucifer smiles. “I don’t own him. But neither do you.” He moves forwards again, physically insisting on removing the space between them. “He’s not your slave. He’s not your vessel.”

“Well, technically---”

“He’s his own person.” Dean is close enough to feel Lucifer’s breath on his skin; it smells like blood. “And you are _never_ putting your hands on him again.”

Lucifer chuckles softly. “Rousing speech,” he says. “But here I am, still wondering…” He touches two fingers to Dean’s chest and locks eyes with the camera. “Does Sam really believe a word you just said?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Lucifer is back and ready to raise some hell.  
> \-------  
> Will Gabriel actually make it back before Literal Satan begins using Dean as a piñata?  
> Sounds like shitty odds, but maybe the boys will get lucky for once.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That's what makes Belle so appealing; she hasn't made a fool of herself just to gain my favor. What would you call that?”  
> “Dignity?”  
> \- Beauty and the Beast

Sam is fine when Lucifer appears in the bunker.

He is fine when he destroys the angel trap.

But the moment those two words slither their way into his ears…

**_Heya, Sammy._ **

That’s the moment the world falls apart.

But it’s obvious that the devil isn’t in any rush, and for that Sam is grateful. His need to antagonize his victims before consuming them gives Gabriel more time to finish repairing the Lance. But that doesn’t mean the hunter is enjoying it.

The blatant and unfiltered discussion of the rapes is horrific, like a blade wrenched between his ribs. He is woefully embarrassed that Dean is being forced to listen to the archangel’s taunts, to his empty promises, to him calling Sam  **_delicious, worthless, my bitch._ **

And then there’s the part where his brother turns to the camera, a brief moment of indecision flashing across his face. 

“No,” Sam tries, but the word sticks to the back of his throat.

Dean’s expression, now indecipherable, sports only a grim smile as he looks back to the archangel. And he says exactly what the boy wishes he could say, shoulders tense with the expectation of a physical attack as he closes the distance between them. 

Fingers pressed against the older Winchester’s chest, Lucifer’s eyes flick to the security camera, conveying a clear message that  **I’m** **_in charge here, you disobedient prick._ **

Sam looks away from the screen and rubs at his face. There’s no way Dean will be able to keep this up; his anger will overcome him eventually. Almost as unfortunate is the fact that Gabriel doesn’t seem to be intent on coming back anytime soon. He should’ve known better than to give him the Lance.

But no sooner has the thought entered his mind does a hand touch his shoulder, and Sam practically falls out of his chair. Whipping around, he connects gazes with the intruder and gasps, “Gabriel what the fu---”

“Maybe later, sunshine,” the archangel interrupts. “How’s it going?"

“See for yourself,” Sam says as he removes one of his headphones. The earbuds are plugged into his phone in order to communicate with Dean, but he’s been using the surveillance camera to listen in so that he can hear Lucifer as well. Tapping the ‘mute’ button on his cell, he turns a knob on the monitor, raising the volume.

“He’ll be mine forever,” they hear the devil say.

There’s a tinge of satisfaction in Dean’s voice as he replies, “Forever can spare a minute.”

Leaning over Sam’s shoulder, Gabriel’s eyebrows go up in amusement. “Did he just quote Beauty and the Beast?”

The boy scoffs. “More like  _ mis _ quoted. We watched it a few weeks ago and he’s been trying to find a place to use lines like that ever since.”

“New or original?” The archangel asks.

“New.”

“He got a thing for Emma Watson or Dan Stevens?”

A slight grin appears on Sam’s face. “Take a wild guess.”

“Huh.” Gabriel clicks his tongue. “I liked him better in Downton Abbey myself, but to each his own.”

The hunter glances up at him. “I didn’t know you watched that crap.”

_ “You  _ do.”

“How---”

“You really think I haven't been keeping tabs on you two-for-ones since I've been back in the states?” The other man replies with mock offense.

“But---”

“I've been tracking your search history. And, as it turns out, you're quite the pirate.” He pulls back so that Sam can see his flirtatious grin. “Naughty, naughty boy.”

“Gabriel---”

“Relax, kiddo,” the archangel says, cutting him off yet again. “I know you don’t swing that way.” He leans back against the desk. “So… asexual, huh?”

Sam’s voice is quiet as he answers, “Yeah.”

“That have anything to do with…” Gabriel gestures towards the screen, and the boy shifts in his seat.

“The sex-repulsed part, yeah. The rest has always just been me.”

“Hmm.” He crosses his arms. “So you’re saying I don’t have a chance?”

Sam shrugs a little. “Not necessarily.” Seeing the confusion on the archangel’s face, he elaborates, “Romance, Gabriel. Just because I'm not a fan of fucking doesn't mean I don't feel romance.”

“So you’re saying I  _ do  _ have a chance.”

Spotting the tip of the Lance peeking out of Gabriel’s jacket, the hunter motions for him to hand it over. “Let’s finish this shit first.  _ Then _ maybe I'll let you take me out to dinner.”

The archangel pulls out the weapon, its stock growing to its full length as he holds it out to Sam. “Seriously?” He asks. “You’d say yes to that?”

Taking the Lance, Sam rests it on his lap. “Not a chance,” he replies.

Gabriel grins. “There’s the Sam I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, gals, and non-binary pals!  
> I know this is kind of a short chapter, and I'm sorry to say that the next few are going to be the same way. But I am going to try to make it up to you. There are, at most, eight chapters left, and I'm going to try to finish them up before the new year. I can't promise anything (especially with finals coming up), but I'm certainly going to try.  
> \-------  
> Also, the reason why this update came so late was because about to weeks ago I had a nasty fall that eventually landed me in the hospital. Migraines from it have been making it difficult to write, so I hope this update makes sense.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I run away today, good people will die. If I stand and fight, some of them might live. Maybe not many, maybe not for long. Hey, you know, maybe there’s no point to any of this at all. But it’s the best I can do. So I’m going to do it. And I’m going to stand here doing it until it kills me. And you’re going to die too! Some day… And how will that be? Have you thought about it? What would you die for? Who I am is where I stand. Where I stand is where I fall.” - Doctor Who

Lucifer pulls away from Dean, hands raised in mock defense. “Look,” he says. “We can do this one of two ways: I kill you and take Sam, or…” He shrugs. “Well, I kill you and take Sam.”

The older Winchester feels his fingers twitch.

It’s barely been five minutes since the archangel’s arrival and Dean is already in the mood to tear his head off. Sam cautioned him earlier that this would happen, that Lucifer would lure him in, provoke him into launching an ill-advised attack. Sam told him this, told him that Lucifer likes to play with his food. But that conversation is at the very back of Dean’s mind; those warnings have been lost to the rage that has settled in his stomach.

And so, with hands itching to curl into fists, the hunter replies, “Well, then, what're you waiting for?” A hint of sadism can be felt through the tightening of his jaw. “Let’s boogie, shitface.”

With a pleased smile of his own, Lucifer says, “I was hoping you’d say that.” But before he can take even a single step, he suddenly finds himself at the business end of the new and improved, fully-loaded Colt.

The archangel recognizes the weapon immediately, and both arms fall back to his sides. He gives his foe an almost exasperated look. “You’re joking.”

The absolution Dean wears refuses to slip as he pulls the hammer back. “Not even a little,” he replies, then fires the first shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is undoubtedly the shortest chapter I've ever written. But since the scenes are currently being split between Dean/Lucifer and Sam/Gabriel, I really can't make them as lengthy as all of us would like.  
> The good news: even if I don't manage to finish before the new year, you guys are gonna get a shit-ton of updates throughout the month of December. So don't worry your little heads; we'll be moving back to longer updates soon.  
> \-------  
> Oh and holy shit, is Dean in for it now.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must endure and endure and still endure.” - Tennessee Williams

Sam reflexively pushes away from the monitor and tightens his fingers around Michael’s Lance, the bang of the Colt like a metaphorical starter pistol. The race has begun with Dean in the lead, but the inevitable retaliation is bound to bring Lucifer into first place.

“Shit,” the younger Winchester gasps, eyes wide; the bullet buries itself in Lucifer’s face, propelling him backwards.

Wincing, Gabriel watches his older brother hit the floor. His thought is the same as Sam’s, and probably the same as Lucifer’s:  **He’s going to pay for that.**

Sam looks up at the the archangel, takes in the paleness of his face. There’s no reason for Gabriel to be afraid, not really. Lucifer is completely unaware that he’s still alive and, as long as the younger man continues to lay low, he always will be. 

The Winchesters, on the other hand…

Gabriel claps his hands together. “And that’s my cue,” he says.

Shifting his grip on the Lance, Sam gets to his feet. “You’re really not staying?”

“And let him know I tricked him?” The archangel scoffs. “In your dreams, Jolly Green.” He pauses a moment, sighing at the boy’s nervous expression. “You’ll be alright,” he says softly. Then, after a gentle pat on Sam’s back, he vanishes.

The hunter looks down at the weapon in his hands, at the new symbols etched into the stock. 

While Dean was making those hot pink angel traps, Sam stepped into the garage for a couple of minutes to make a call. Leaning against the Impala, he closed his eyes and began to pray. But this time it wasn’t to Chuck, nor was it to Cas; this time he was praying to Gabriel. Though he didn’t receive a response, it is obvious that the archangel got his message.

Sam takes a deep breath. This is it: the end of the path he started them on. And he’s the only one who can finish it. 

With one final whisper to the heavens of  _ please let Dean live,  _ he opens the door and steps into the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's another short chapter. But not to worry; beginning next update, they're definitely going to be longer.  
> \------  
> What was Sam's prayer to Gabriel? What is written on the Lance?  
> Too bad y'all are gonna have to wait!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Animals don’t stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead.” - Frank Castle

"Sam?” Dean calls, tapping the earbud. “Sammy?” 

But there’s no response.

Gaze locked on Lucifer, he retreats a few yards. The Colt is still aimed at the fallen archangel, but his trembling hand keeps the mouth bobbing about. The last time he shot the devil, he ended up tossed across the earth like a rag doll, knocked unconscious by the harsh force of his body slamming against a half-dead oak. Though it hurt like hell, he was spared from any further attempt on his life due to the fact that Lucifer’s attention was almost entirely dedicated to Sam’s reaction to his show of prowess. 

But this time is different. This time Dean is alone.

And this time he is completely and utterly fucked.

The archangel groans loudly and Dean’s eyes flick to the security camera. “Where are you, Sam?” He murmurs, trying his best not to sound like he’s already calling for help. The silence at the other end of the line is deafening. He’s just turning back around when he sees his opponent dragging himself to his feet.

“You fucking---” Lucifer starts, but he’s cut off once more as Dean fires four more times into his head. More prepared for this second assault, the shots only send him stumbling back a couple of feet.

Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. Fumbling for the remaining ammunition, he loads one bullet into the empty gun. He’s just going to slip a second into the chamber when the archangel gestures with both hands, swiftly pulling Dean towards him.

The remaining ammo falls from the hunter’s grasp and spills out across the floor, but Dean doesn’t even notice, the fear on his face clear as day as Lucifer catches him by the throat.

Gaze like ice and mouth quivering with anticipation, the archangel allows himself a long, deep breath. It is a guttural sound, warped by the damage that Dean inflicted with the Colt.

And, this close to his face, the hunter realizes with regret that ‘damage’ might be too weak a description.

The first bullet hit Lucifer in the forehead, sending cracks and ripples through the skin surrounding the deep hole in his flesh. The second took out his left cheekbone, the third his jaw, exposing the angry red muscles beneath the obliterated bones. Fourth was the base of his right eye socket, which is probably the most horrific. Almost the entirety of the eye is now visible, with a considerable chunk taken out of the sclera and even a bit of the iris. The remaining skin would probably have presented as drooping and uneven if not for the fifth and final bullet, which created a rather large and unsavory crater where some of his teeth once grew. Gone as well is most of his upper lip, creating a perfectly ghoulish expression as what is left of his mouth twists into a scowl.

“That  _ hurt,”  _ Lucifer hisses, blood flecking his captive’s face. Then, adjusting his grip, he throws Dean across the room. 

The Winchester gasps in shock as he hits the floor, the Colt sent skidding across the ground as it is finally lost from his weakened grip. Ignoring the pounding in his temples, he lifts his head just in time to see the archangel starting towards him.

Lucifer’s wounds heal as he moves, his mess of a mouth finishing reassembling itself just in time for the hunter to get to his feet and deal those perfect lips a powerful blow with his fist.

Blood staining his teeth, the archangel’s gaze catches on the enochian brass knuckles that now encase Dean’s fingers. Feeling the slightest twinge of inconvenience, Lucifer decides that he’s had enough. And so, before Dean can even think to hit him again, he gives a little wave, pulling the weapon from his opponent's hand and whipping it aside.

Completely disarmed, the hunter opens his mouth in an attempt to try and stall, but Lucifer won’t allow him the chance as he takes him by the collar and knocks him back against the wall.

Dean doesn’t even try to pull away. All he does is whisper the word “run,” hoping somehow that Sam is still listening. It’s not until he sees the widening grin on Lucifer’s face that he recognizes the fact that the earbud is gone, having fallen out at some point during the fight.

With the slightest of giggles, the archangel transfers his grip to Dean’s neck, thumb teasing at his adam’s apple. “Normally I’d threaten you,” he murmurs, “get Sammy to come running. But what’s another surefire way to get him to show himself?”

Not waiting for a response, he gestures one final time, telekinetically reclaiming the Colt. He can feel Dean’s breathing hitch as he presses the muzzle against his chin and pulls the hammer back. “Good thing you managed to load that bullet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ain't ready for what's coming next.  
> \--------  
> Also! I have finals through December 19th so there won't be any updates until after that. Studying (unfortunately) takes top priority.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The heart roars like a lion at what they've done to us.” - Charles Bukowski

The first time Dean was killed, he was terrified. He had an entire year to build up to that point, to build up the fear that would ultimately consume him the moment that hellhound broke into the room.

This time he only has a few moments to acknowledge his fate but, ultimately, it’s a hundred times worse. One pull of the trigger and life will be stripped away from him once again, leaving Sam alone with a monster far worse than Ruby.

He barely has time to take a breath, however, when Lucifer’s hand slips. The gun fires next to Dean’s head, the bullet nicking his ear.

The older Winchester knocks the empty Colt from the archangel’s grip and immediately presses his hands against his ears, trying to focus. But all he can hear is a high-pitched whine as he leans against the wall for support. Gritting his teeth, he manages a gasped “shit,” the burning pain he feels slowly pulling him back to the present. 

When Dean looks back to Lucifer, the first thing he sees is a bit of silver peeking through the archangel’s chest. The second thing he sees is the blood seeping through the tan of his shirt.

“Fucking hell,” the hunter murmurs, blurred vision finally settling on the figure behind Lucifer. “Sam?”

The younger man doesn’t even look at him; his eyes are locked solely on Lucifer as he shoves the Lance further through the archangel’s torso until the hilt has almost settled against his back.

Lucifer gasps loudly as he looks down at the blade, red pooling in his hands as he tries to halt the bleeding.

Releasing his grip on the Lance, Sam takes Lucifer by the shoulder and turns him around. For the first time since their meeting in Hell, the boy and his most recognizable torturer are face-to-face.

It’s in that instant that Dean realizes that his brother’s expression is completely devoid of emotion. If anything, the only thing he can see is the rage that flickers behind his green eyes.

“You  _ bitch,”  _ Lucifer growls, teeth bared.

Ignoring the curse, Sam takes him by the shirt and pulls them both their knees.

“Sam,” Dean calls, but his brother doesn’t spare him a glance.

The archangel leans away from Sam, the pain in his chest heightened by the shifting of the Lance.

“Look at me,” Sam says quietly. His voice his low, threatening, a tone which Dean recognizes but cannot place.

Refusing his order, Lucifer pulls weakly against the man’s grip.

A wisp of a smile appears on Sam’s face and, tightening his hold on the archangel’s collar, punches him in the jaw.

Lucifer rocks back on his heels, stunned, and Dean calls for his brother again, louder this time: “Sam!” 

Again, he is ignored.

The younger hunter takes a breath, scanning his captive with what can only be described as hunger. “I  _ said, look at me.” _

It takes a couple of seconds, but this time Lucifer obeys.

Unsure what he’s supposed to do, Dean takes a step forwards, and that’s when his brother acknowledges him for the first time.

Sam raises a hand, head cocked with clear irritation. 

Dean can see the blood staining his fingers.

Eyes flick up at the older hunter, the cold glare conveying one thing and one thing only:  _ don’t interrupt me again. _

Dean immediately moves back a few feet, finally remembering where he’s seen that look before: six years ago, when Sam was soulless.

Obviously, his soul was eventually returned to him, and it has remained intact for over half a decade. But that’s what scares Dean the most, that Sam is capable of reclaiming the persona of his soulless self. Conscience or not, he is looking at his older brother in the same curious way he did when Dean was bitten by that vampire.

The worst part is that, this time, there is nothing Dean can do to stop it.

Returning his attention to Lucifer, Sam glides his fingers over his skin and takes him by the throat. “Now who’s the bitch?”

Not one to give up easily, the archangel replies, “That’s still under debate.”

“I don’t think so.” Sam looks at him for a long moment, that blood-hungry grin returning to his face. “I’ve waited seven years to do this.”

“You’ve waited seven years to kill me with big brother’s Lance?” He purses his lips in mock confusion. “That’s a bit specif---”

Sam hits him again, cutting him off. “Shut up,” he hisses. “You are going to die, and you are going to die  _ in pain.” _

“So you’re doing to me what I did to you.” Lucifer clears his throat, attempting to ignore the pain of the black veins slithering their way up the side of his neck. “I didn’t take you for the ‘revenge’ type.”

The hunter scoffs. “Not even close.  _ I’m  _ not the  _ rapist _ , remember?”

“Oh, not this again.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, exasperated. “For the last time, it wasn’t---”

“Shut up!” Sam roars, and this time his punch breaks bone. He barely feels his scraped knuckles or dark red that now coats his skin. “Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

“It’s been…” Lucifer wheezes, nearly choking on the blood pooling in his mouth. “It’s been  _ seven years _ . Don’t tell me you’re still not over it.”

Sam locks his jaw, voice a near whisper as he asks, “How long were we together?”

“Excuse me?”

“In The Cage,” the hunter says, barely breathing, “how long were we together?”

Lucifer spits on the floor. “Not long enough, apparently.”

Sam’s grip on his throat tightens immediately, teeth flashing dangerously close to the archangel’s face. “Six thousand years. You tortured me for  _ six thousand years.” _

Black flecks the hunter’s face as Lucifer coughs. “Wow,” the archangel manages. “Time--- time really does fly when y-you’re having fun.”

Reaching down, Sam takes the head of the Lance and pulls it further through Lucifer’s chest. The blade cuts viciously into his palm, but he doesn’t even flinch.

Blood spills faster from the wound, and finally the archangel screams in pain.

Dean winces, not so much at the cry as at Sam’s reaction.

“But the torture didn’t stop,” the younger Winchester says, clasping Lucifer’s cheek in his blood-stained hand. “I had to live with what you did to me.”

“Well...” Lucifer swallows wetly. “What doesn’t k-kill you makes you str-stronger.”

Sam wipes red across the veins with his thumb. “That’s what they say. But it doesn’t work like that, not always.”

“Is this---” The archangel blinks back tears. “Is this going somewhere?”

“Yeah.” Sam takes a steadying breath. “Even when I thought you were in Hell, even when I thought you were  _ dead,  _ every single one of my actions was dictated by fear. By  _ you _ . But I’m done. I am  _ done  _ letting you control my life.” He looks briefly up at his brother, who gives him a slight nod. For the first time in months, he looks like himself. “Dean was right. You  _ don’t  _ own me. And nothing will ever change that. I am  _ Sam fucking Winchester,  _ and let me tell you something else.” He leans in, lips brushing the archangel’s ear as he murmurs, “I win.”

Mouth stained with a mix of black and red, Sam pulls back, the smile on his face no longer full of cruelty, but rather of power.

And Lucifer just looks at him, at the boy king, at  _ Sam fucking Winchester,  _ the man who beat the devil not once, not twice, not even three times. Over seven years and six millenia, Sam has faced him on four different occasions, and each and every time he has won. 

The veins have vanished into the archangel’s hair; he only has minutes left. He coughs, the black ooze thickening in his mouth as he looks weakly up at Sam. “You sure about that?”

It’s Dean who first realizes what’s going to happen, but he’s too late. This time there is no build-up, no precious moments to fight the inevitable. He opens his mouth to scream a warning, and that’s when it happens.

Lucifer grabs Sam by the shoulders and pulls him forwards, lips pressing against his mouth as he tears the head of the spear through his boy’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this has taken. I won't bore you with the details, but there were certain things that kept me from writing. And now I've got the flu, oh boy.  
> \------  
> This isn't the end, so don't worry. Or should you be worried?   
> We've got about four chapters left to find out.  
> \------  
> I had a lot of fun writing Sam's little speech to Lucifer. Even though he got stabbed, I still think he won this one.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse, for some.” - The Handmaid’s Tale

The first time Sam was killed, it was unexpected. He didn’t have the time to be afraid; all he knew was the pain of the knife and the coarseness of the ground as he fell to his knees. He didn’t have time to come to terms with the fact that he was dying, that his brother’s hands on his face were the last things he’d ever feel, that the look of terror in his eyes was the last thing he’d ever see.

This is worse.

This is Dean knowing that he could’ve done something, that he could’ve stopped this, that he made the conscious decision to just stand there and watch. This is Dean understanding that he is partly at fault, that Lucifer would not have touched Sam if he had just made the choice to take hold of the younger man and pull him away.

This is Dean facilitating his little brother’s death.

This is hell.

Two steps and Dean is upon them, taking the Lance in both hands and pulling it free of both bodies before tossing it aside. Fingers curl unceremoniously around Lucifer’s collar as he yanks him off of the boy.

Sam rocks backwards on his heels, face tilted up towards the ceiling. Pink lips form an o-shape and he gasps softly as his body gives out.

Dropping to his knees, Dean catches him, unable to form a single word as he lays him on the ground.

Then the boy says his name, the whispered “Dean?” like a shot to the older man’s heart. 

“Hey,” he manages finally. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here, okay?” He swallows hard, repeating, “I’m here.” 

“Dean, please---” Sam starts, but cuts off with a pained groan as his brother tears open his shirt. 

The older hunter barely manages to keep himself from cursing at the wound, at the dark red that coats the boy’s skin. “I’ve gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, feigning calm. Pulling off his jacket, he folds it up. He’s just going to press it against the hole in Sam’s chest when he sees them for the first time.

Realizing that his brother has stopped moving, Sam grabs at his sleeve, unable to keep the panic from his voice as he asks, “What’s going on?”

Dean doesn’t know how to answer. He recognizes what he sees, but he doesn’t understand. 

There are black veins slowly spreading across Sam’s chest.

“It’s--- it’s fine,” the older hunter breathes. Wrapping the boy’s hands around his jacket, he presses the green material against the wound. “Hold that there,” he adds, then turns his full attention to the only person in the room who could provide an explanation. “What’s happening to him?” 

Lucifer flicks his gaze from the younger Winchester to the older, so wrought with agony that he’s barely able to move. “He’s dying,” he says simply.

Rage manifests in Dean’s stomach almost instantaneously. “You know what I mean.”

Black goo splutters from the archangel’s mouth as he tries a laugh. “Michael’s Lance doesn’t just condemn archangels, you idiot. It also condemns their vessels.” Looking back to Sam, his grin widens, the white of his teeth barely visible as he continues, “And I can’t  _ wait _ to see where he ends up.”

Terror streaks through Sam’s body at Lucifer’s final words. “Not this,” he whispers, so quietly that Dean barely catches what he’s saying. “God, please, not this.”

Hazel eyes dart about the room as Dean tries to think. Thoughts fly quickly through his mind, plans considered and discarded when he realizes that they won’t work. Then his gaze lands on the forgotten Lance.

“No,” he can hear Sam say, and for the briefest of moments he considers keeping his promise to let both of them die.

Then he says, “Fuck it,” and gets to his feet, ignoring his brother’s protests as he retrieves the Lance. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the victorious expression on Lucifer’s face, but even that isn’t enough to stop him. He looks to his brother. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait---” Sam tries, but there’s no point.

Raising the Lance, Dean brings it down on his knee, breaking it in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Dean's beliefs at the beginning of the chapter are not something I agree with. He's definitely not the one at fault here (and neither is Sam), but that's never stopped him from blaming himself.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I trust myself. I trust my instincts. I know what I’m gonna do, what I can do, what I can’t do. I’ve been through a lot, and I could go through more, but I hope I don’t have to. But if I did, I’d be able to do it. I’m not going to enjoy dying, but there’s not much prep for that.” - Carrie Fisher

Dean should have listened to Sam. 

At the most basic level, destroying the Lance means two things: one, Sam lives; and two, so does Lucifer.

But Dean doesn’t care, or at least not completely. His main focus, forever and always, is Sam. Yes, this will mean having to find an alternate way to defeat the archangel, but at least the two brothers will be in it together. 

Splinters bite at Dean’s palms, the Lance going dim in his hands. But then there’s a flash of light, a sudden glow rushing back through the stock. 

This didn’t happen last time.

The older Winchester’s eyes flick from one piece of wood to the other, for the first time taking in the new enochian symbols glaring brightly in his grasp.

This  _ definitely  _ didn’t happen last time.

“What…” Dean murmurs, but quickly trails off as he turns his eyes to Sam. 

The veins have continued to spread across the boy’s skin; some even begin to climb past his collarbones as they tease at the base of his neck. 

Dean whips his head towards the archangel, and what he sees fills him with both relief and fear.

Lucifer is dead. 

His eyes are open in a stare, the effects of the Lance causing hemorrhages that spot the whites with a dark red. The veins have made their way into his mouth, pulling his lips back over his teeth so it appears as though he’s caught in a perpetual scream. The rest of his body is white as a sheet.

Shoes scuff against the floor as Dean turns back to his little brother. “Sam… what the hell did you do?”

The paleness of Sam’s face vanishes for a moment as he flushes red with embarrassment. “I---” he starts, but a slice of pain forces him to cut himself off.

Dropping the Lance, Dean moves back to the boy’s side and falls to his knees. “Sam,” he says again, but this time his words are no longer a question. “What did you do.”

It’s a pointless inquiry, and both of them know it. The older hunter made the grave mistake of leaving the younger alone, allowing the latter to make a choice that would secure them a victory.

Or a loss. It depends on how you look at it.

“I had Gabriel alter the spell,” Sam says, ensuring that his brother understands. “You can’t bring me back. You can’t bring  _ either  _ of us back.”

“Why---”

“I knew you’d do this. If something happened to me, I knew you’d break the Lance. This was---

“A failsafe?” Another unnecessary question.

“Yeah,” Sam replies softly. His fingers grip the other man’s jacket a bit tighter. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s first scream is incomprehensible.

It begins in his belly, burning its way up through his chest and flooding him with a rage and desperation he hasn’t felt in years. His little brother is dying, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. From the moment Lucifer pulled the Lance through Sam’s chest, it was like Dean was just there to watch.

Clutching the boy’s hand, Dean’s voice takes on an edge as he roars for the only friend he has left. “Cas” rips itself from his throat in one loud burst, and then he pauses, heart pounding as he listens for the flutter of wings. But all he can hear are Sam’s shuddering breaths, and so he tightens his grip and screams the angel’s name again.

And again.

And again and again and what feels like a hundred times more before he finally collapses in on himself, his brother’s knuckles pressed against his lips as he begins to cry.

Sam can feel the coolness of the tears on his skin, and he turns his eyes towards the ceiling. 

He is in terrible agony, more than he’s ever been since he got out of The Cage. But this pain is nothing compared to what could come next. Though he’s prayed that he’ll be called to Heaven when he dies, what just happened might ensure him a trip in the opposite direction. If what Lucifer said was true, then the Lance bound them together; wherever one goes, the other will as well. 

And Sam won’t allow himself to complain, no matter how terrified he is. 

He chose this.

He knew that the odds of him dying exceeded one hundred percent. But the moment he stabbed Lucifer, he allowed himself to feel a semblance of hope. And from that hope sprung pride, which then evolved into the impulsive move of putting himself right in front of Lucifer when he should have just stepped back and allowed him to die.

But that  _ speech. _

He’s been waiting  _ years  _ to talk like that to Lucifer, to turn the tables and make  _ him  _ the bitch. To be able to say those things to him, to be able to hit him and hear him scream, to be able to murmur a triumphant  _ “I win”   _ in his ear….

It almost makes it all worth it.

A tightness pulls at Sam’s throat as the veins crawl further up his neck, and he begins to choke.

Dean immediately takes the boy into his arms, cradling him, ignoring the black that flecks his face as Sam coughs. 

Minutes. He only has minutes left.

“Tell me I’ll go to heaven.”

The words are so quiet that Dean almost misses them. He looks down at his brother. “What?”

“T-tell me I’ll go to heaven,” Sam repeats, voice cracking as pain bites at his chest. “Tell me I’ll be with Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Eileen---”

“Hey,” Dean says, cutting the boy off. “If anyone deserves to go to heaven, it’s you, Sam.” He nods as though to reassure both of them. “I promise.”

Pink lips tremble as tears fill Sam’s eyes. “How do you know?” He strains. He’s desperate for answers, for some sort of confirmation that he will never have to face Lucifer again. He wants someone to tell him that he’s going to be safe, that the justifiably furious archangel will not be allowed to touch him, let alone do anything else.

But no one can give him that. The only person who knows where he’s headed abandoned them over a year ago. And who’s to say that Chuck would care enough to save him in the first place?

“I’m sorry,” Sam says after a moment, shame tinging his words as he looks away. “I’m sorry, this was my choice, I’m sorry.”

“Listen to me.” Dean links their fingers together, waiting for his brother to lock eyes with him before he continues. “If Chuck sends you anywhere but heaven, I’ll hunt him down and---”

“Kick his ass?” Eyebrows go up. “Force him to bring me back?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Dean asks. “Tell me you  _ know  _ you’ll be safe. Tell me  _ his _ death” - he points to Lucifer -  “is more valuable than  _ your _ life. Tell me… tell me you wouldn’t do the same for me.” 

Sam doesn’t reply with anything more than a sigh of resignation. 

“Exactly.” Dean shifts his grip on his brother, bringing them closer together. “You don’t have to worry about  _ shit,  _ Sam. About Heaven, Hell, any of it. ‘Cause I’m gonna bring you back. I’m gonna bring you back to this shitty bunker, I’m gonna bring you back home.”

Sam looks up at him, at his big brother, at the man he’s loved since before he even knew what love meant. Dean is his lifeline, his anchor, his rock, and would switch places with the younger man in an instant; this they both know for a fact. But Sam won’t allow it. He would  _ never  _ allow it. Lucifer has always been  _ his  _ cross to bear, since the moment the archangel was created until his death on the floor of the Winchesters’ bunker. He cannot come back again, even if it means that Sam is to spend the entirety of his existence being punished for doing the right thing. 

Sam’s mission from the very beginning was kill Lucifer, and he did. But even better was the fact that he was able to save Dean.

What greater reward is there than that?

Reaching trembling fingers towards Dean’s face, Sam traces the freckles that dot his skin. He slides his hand down and over his jaw, gently cupping his brother’s cheek in his palm. 

Dean closes his eyes and leans into Sam’s touch, but the boy’s own gaze washes over every bit of the older man, taking in as much as he can for what will be the last time. He desperately tries to memorize the dark blonde of his lashes, the curvature of his lips. And when Dean’s eyes flick back open, Sam can barely breathe. The beautiful green looks down on him with an unrelenting sadness, and the boy can’t help but wish he could see them crinkle with laughter one last time.

“You…” Sam says softly, the liquid that rises in his throat making it difficult to speak.  _ “You  _ are my home.”

Dean barely has time to offer up a mirthless smile when suddenly his little brother jerks in his grasp. “Sam?” He says, willing away what he knows is about to happen.

The boy tries to sputter his brother’s name, but the dark ooze is choking him, spilling free of his mouth as the veins snake closer to his lips.

“Sammy!” Dean shouts, but his words are pointless. He pulls his brother closer, hugging him to his chest. He can feel the wetness of Sam’s blood against his chest, can feel the heat of the black liquid as it falls from Sam’s mouth and onto his neck. “Don’t leave me, not now,” he pleads, voice quieting as he rocks him gently in his grasp. “Not like this.”

All is quiet for a moment, save Dean’s shuddering breaths as he leans into the boy’s shoulder. 

But then Sam raises his head, body screaming in agony as he levels his lips with his brother’s ear. “I love you,” he says softly.

A single tear streaks down the side of Dean’s face as he pulls away. “I love---” he begins, but cuts himself off when he realizes that it’s over.

Sam is dead.

Ignoring his pale face and ruined skin, Dean tucks him back against his chest. “I love you too, Sammy,” he murmurs into his little brother’s neck. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... this was a tough one to write.  
> \-------  
> So I guess we know now what Gabriel did with the Lance!  
> \-------  
> Four chapters left.  
> \-------  
> The next book will be quite a bit darker than this one. It will revisit some of Sam's past while bringing some new elements into the mix. Take that as you will.  
> \-------  
> Also! I just saw Infinity War last night. If any of you have seen it too, I'd love to discuss it (just no spoilers in the comments, please). Message me on here or on my tumblr (link is in my bio).  
> And if you haven't seen it yet... Honey, you've got a big storm coming.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.” - Coco Chanel

It’s another ten minutes before Cas finally returns to the bunker.

Dean hears the flutter of his wings, the heaviness of his breath, but he doesn’t turn around. The only thing proving he’s even noted the angel’s entrance is the jittery bob of his adam’s apple.

“I returned as soon as I could,” Cas says, looking around the room. “Crowley is…” His voice trails off as he catches a glimpse of Lucifer’s body. “You defeated him?”

“Not me.” The older Winchester adjusts his grip on his brother’s hand, looping their fingers together. “I didn’t do shit.”

With a furrowed brow, Cas peers over Dean’s shoulder. Immediately his hand flies to his mouth, Sam’s mangled form tying his stomach in knots.

The boy is in worse shape than Lucifer, the price paid for having a fragile human body. Blood has pooled in his ears; the red stains the skin around his nose and closed eyes as well. His face is distressingly pale, deeply contrasting the dark veins that almost seem to have tightened around his face. Cracked lips have pulled back over his teeth, though not as drastically as Lucifer’s; odds are Dean tried to close his mouth like he did his eyes, if only to try and make him less painful to look at. The ugly, gaping hole in Sam’s chest is enough to make even the angel feel a bit nauseous, so he turns his gaze to the back of Dean’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly.

The hunter tugs at Sam’s shirt, trying to cover the wound. “Yeah, I figured you might be.” It’s tearing him apart, seeing his little brother like this, but what can he do?

_ Resurrection. _

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. The angel is speaking literally; he has no doubt about that. Turning on his heel, he fixes Cas with a threatening glare. “Do you, now?”

Either Cas doesn’t note his tone or simply chooses to ignore it as he replies, “You want to bring him back.”

The hunter taps his own nose. “Ding-ding,” he says, then turns back to Sam.

“You can’t.” Cas’ voice sounds a little strained. He knows the conversation that lies ahead, and he’s not going to enjoy it. He never does.

Sliding one arm beneath Sam’s neck and the other beneath his legs, Dean picks him up. The boy’s head slumps against his shoulder as he gets to his feet, and immediately his heart clenches. He can feel the tip of his nose pressing into his pec, the sharp cut of his cheekbone digging into his arm, and that’s when he notices how thin his brother is. 

Sam is very muscular, there’s no arguing that. But he’s not in good shape. If anything, it almost feels as though he’s wasting away. 

Dean knows that Sam has had trouble in the past, both with under-eating and overexercising. The boy always explained this away with the excuse that he was just trying to be healthy, but it’s clear there’s more to it than that. At the very least, he uses it to relieve stress. Even before he knew about the sexual assault, Dean did some research, and he’s learned that it’s possible Sam is also doing this to ground himself and ward off any breakthrough flashbacks or hallucinations. 

Whatever the reason, Sam has been doing it to excess, which could potentially fall under the category of self-harm. Dean has meant for months to talk to him about this, but he could never work up the courage. 

And now it’s too late.

Turning around, the hunter looks at Cas and says, “Can’t I?”

“You  _ shouldn’t,”  _ the angel amends.

Dean shrugs. “Never stopped me before.” Then, shifting his grip on his brother, he begins to head towards the hall.

Cas reaches out and places a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder, stalling him. 

The look in Dean’s eyes changes immediately, the green screaming  _ I’m going to fucking kill you. _

“If you do this,” the angel says, refusing to drop his arm, “Lucifer could return as well.”

“Yeah, you know, Sam mentioned that too.”

“I thought he might.” Cas takes a step closer. “You have to think, Dean: what would Sam want?”

“He’s in Hell,” he replies sharply.

“You don’t know that.”

Teeth click together. “And you do?”

Cas shakes his head, at a loss as to how to make his friend understand. “Sam wouldn’t want this.”

“You know what?” A rage swells in Dean’s chest, so sick and tired is he of being told what to do. “You don’t know what the hell Sam would want, especially now.”

“Dean---”

“And what about  _ me?”  _ The hunter closes the space between them, knocking his brother’s body up against Cas’ chest. “What about what  _ I  _ want? You ever think maybe I can’t do this by myself? That if I burn Sam’s body, I won’t wanna live anymore either?” He’s hyperventilating now, voice cracking as he falls further apart. “I don’t give  _ two shits  _ ‘bout the rest of the world. The only reason I wanted to fight Lucifer was to save Sam, and---” He cuts himself off with a sharp laugh. “Look what happened, huh?”

“But your mother---”

“My  _ mother  _ can go to hell. If she hadn’t lied, none of this would’ve happened.” Lips trembling, Dean turns his gaze towards the ceiling, doing his best to ward away any tears. “I’m…” He takes a breath, his softening voice wrought with pain. “I’m  _ tired,  _ Cas. I can’t do this anymore, not by myself.”

The angel sputters a little. “You have me.”

“Do I?” Dean looks at him for a long moment. “Always? Unconditionally?”

Cas goes silent, unsure how to answer.

“What would Sam do if everything was the same, but  _ I _ was the one who died?”

“He would find a way to bring you back,” the angel says quietly, unable to lie.

“Yeah.” Dean leans in, the closeness of their bodies sending streaks of trepidation down Cas’ spine as the hunter orders, “Now get out of my way.”

Cas slowly steps aside, his trench brushing lightly against Sam’s shoes as Dean walks past him.

The hunter makes his way up the stairs and down the hall with care, as though his brother will become more damaged if he moves too quickly. He passes his own room and instead heads to Sam’s, the intermingling scent of lavender and Axe that always seems to linger beyond that door something he desperately needs right now. 

He balances Sam against his chest as he lets himself in, the neatness of the entire room prompting his stomach to do a small flip. This has always been such a heavy contrast between the two brothers to the point where Dean will mock Sam if he forgets to wash a dirty dish or Sam will feed Dean exaggerated compliments when he throws out something as simple as a candy bar wrapper.

Toeing the door shut, Dean inhales deeply. But the room smells only of death, Sam’s corpse overpowering any lavender and Axe that might’ve remained after the last time they slept together.

_ The last time. _

Dean shakes his head. 

No. 

No, he’ll fix this. He  _ has  _ to fix this.

Gently, the hunter lays Sam down on the bed. Brushing his little brother’s hair out of his face, he grimaces as he realizes that the boy’s eyes flicked back open while on their way back from the war room. With two fingers he tries to close the stiff lids, but they won’t stay. Green stares up at him, and all Dean can think of is how badly he failed his little brother. He can blame their mom all he wants, but that doesn’t excuse his role in Sam’s death.

With great hesitation, Dean slowly gets to his knees. Elbows resting on the bed, hands folded and pressed against the bridge of his nose, he bites at his lip; he knows in the back of his mind that this isn’t going to work. But he’s going to do it anyway, not because he trusts God, but because he has complete and utter faith in Sam. 

“I don’t know if anyone’s listening, but…” Dean takes a deep breath. “Here it goes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters. The final chapter is already written (it's been written for almost six months) and, now that I'm finished with school for the summer, I should get all of them out pretty quick.  
> \------  
> This update could probably be better, but (1) Dean is difficult to write, (2) my dog passed out on top of me and now my legs are asleep, and (3) it's 2:30am, so I should probably get to bed.  
> \------  
> I only have one thing to say about the season 13 finale: Andrew Dabb can suck my dick.  
> \------  
> Actually, if you want me to expand further on that, let me know. I'm ready and prepared to talk shit about one of the most poorly edited, badly written, and out of canon episodes in the history of this show. Yes, there was an enormous victory, but the way it happened made me absolutely furious.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aut viam inveniam aut faciam — i will either find a way, or i will make one

Dean never wakes up before 9am.

Sam, on the other hand, was always out of bed by six. Fifteen minutes later he would be out the door, jogging his way through the woods for just over an hour with a playlist Dean made for him blasting from his earbuds. He’d created the beaten, ten-mile path himself, due mainly to the fact that he ran it so often.

On finding out about his lengthy runs, Dean had instructed Sam to give a light tap on his door post-workout to let him know he’d gotten back safely. If the boy was ever gone past 7:30, his brother would know that something was up.

By the time Dean would finally drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen, Sam would already have the coffee made, as well as some eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove. The older hunter would communicate only in grunts until he finally managed to knock back two cups of coffee. He used to mix it with some kind of alcohol until Sam caught him and drilled into him the fact that he would receive no breakfast if he ever did it again. Dean grumbled at that, asking what the point was to drinking coffee if it wasn’t spiked with anything. “Have you ever tried it by itself?” Sam asked, to which is brother quietly confessed that he hadn’t. The younger man then proceeded to swat him with the plastic spatula, saying, “Drink it without the whiskey or I’ll smack you again.”

“Like hell you would,” Dean shot back, his face full of surprise when Sam actually _did_ hit him again, this time on the cheek. “Geez, Sammy, save it for the bedroom,” he said, immediately lifting the mug to his lips. He would never admit it, but he wasn’t opposed to Sam taking charge. The boy did it so irregularly that it was almost refreshing when he ordered Dean around. And while most people who tried to dominate Dean ended up faced with a furious glare or a knife in their gut, all Sam ever received was a look of curiosity mixed with just a bit satisfaction.

Sam knew this, of course, and he took full advantage of it.

Today Dean is up at quarter-to-seven, the cold of Sam’s body jolting him from an already light slumber.

Last night was one of the most difficult experiences of his life. After a long, begrudging prayer to someone he knew wasn’t listening, Dean rolled Sam’s already stiff form onto his side and slid up behind him, pressed up as tight as he could against his back. The hunter’s breathing shuddered as he draped one arm over his brother’s torso. They slept in the same bed probably more often than necessary, and he’d gotten so used to the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest that the lack of it felt like he was reliving the boy’s death all over again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into his brother’s neck. “I’m so, so sorry.” Touching his lips to the curve of Sam’s jaw, Dean gave him a gentle kiss. It took another two hours for him to fall asleep.

Pulling away from his brother, Dean sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His entire body aches, and a small groan slips from between his lips.

The door suddenly pushes open and Cas peers inside; Dean can only guess how long he was in the hall, waiting for the Winchester to wake up. “We should go,” the angel says softly, not sparing a moment.

“Can you…” Dean gets to his feet, his breathing hitching once, then twice before he’s able to continue. “Can you make him look like himself again? Take away the veins and, and the things in his eyes and---”

“You know I can’t,” Cas interrupts. “Removing those marks is just as impossible as healing him.” He moves a bit closer, but the hunter shies away, not ready for any sort of physical comfort just yet.

Dean’s shirt and coat are stiff with Sam’s blood, but he doesn’t go to remove them; the thought of doing so doesn’t even cross his mind. “We need to--- we need to burn the body.”

Cas’ eyes narrow in confusion at Dean’s statement, prompting the other man to make it clear who he is talking about.

“ _Lucifer_ . We need to burn _Lucifer’s_ body.”

“Not just his.” The angel tries to catch his gaze. “You know what we have to do.”

After a long moment, Dean turns back to his brother, but he is unable to keep his eyes on him for very long. “I’ll find a way.”

“Dean---”

“Don’t!” The hunter raises a hand, stalling any sort of movement Cas had even thought to make. “Just…” He inhales sharply through his teeth, desperate to settle himself.

_I will I will I will I will_

“You can’t,” Cas says, purposefully cutting him off. “You have to understand this, Dean. _I_ need you to understand this: _you cannot bring Sam back.”_

Dean shakes his head, sniffling a little. “You don’t--- you don’t know that.”

“I know that the longer Sam’s body remains here, greater is the possibility that Lucifer will find a way back. I know that if you resurrect Sam, Lucifer will most likely be resurrected as well.” He finally touches a gentle hand to his friend’s arm. “And I know that your brother would not want either of those things to happen.”

The muscles in Dean’s throat tighten a little. He’s not an idiot. He’s aware of what could happen if he goes through with this, if he doesn’t give Sam a funeral and tries to save him instead. He’s aware of the possible ramifications of his actions. He’s aware of everything that Cas is telling him, and more, which is something the angel doesn’t seem to get.

Dean is aware of all of this, yet he’s going to do it anyway. And if he can’t bring _Sam_ to _him_ , well… there’s a remedy for that too.

“Dean.” Cas is standing in the doorway, waiting for him.

Bending down, the hunter slips his arms beneath Sam’s body in the same way he did last night, not picking him up until the boy’s head is nestled in the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says quietly, rising to his full height. “Okay.” Then he follows the angel out into the hall.

It takes them a long time to reach the war room, with Cas pausing every few steps to wait for his friend to catch up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Dean is going to draw this out as long as possible.

Last night, while Dean slept, Cas cleaned. The Winchesters keep copious amounts of supplies on-hand for this very purpose, and he used all of them. From mops to sponges to bristle brushes, he worked hard to eradicate every bit of blood and black ooze from the floor. Now as they enter the war room, Cas’ eyes immediately dart towards the base of a podium, next to which is a bit of red he wasn’t able to rub out. The stain obviously came from Sam, and the angel can only hope that Dean won’t see it before he’s able to go out and fetch some more bleach.

On the table itself is Lucifer’s body, which Cas wrapped in black trash bags so that Dean wouldn’t have to look at him. Duct tape is bound around his face, chest, knees, and ankles as though intending to keep the dead archangel from breaking free. Of course, if he was alive, this simple wrapping would do nothing to impede his escape.

Next to Lucifer lies the reloaded Colt, with the remaining two bullets now residing in the pocket of Cas’ trench. Tucked inside his jacket are the two broken halves of the Lance. He knows that they’re currently useless, but it’s still best to make sure they remain out of the hands of anyone with more nefarious intentions. This, in Cas’ opinion, includes those of one flighty, young archangel.

Both Sam and Dean’s guns are in front of them too, as well as the latter man’s cell phone.

Glancing up at the hunter, Cas notices his blank stare, how he doesn’t seem to care about or even recognize the items on the table. The angel allows himself a small sigh, and that’s when he first realizes the blood on Dean’s face. But it doesn’t belong to Sam; this blood covers Dean’s ear, obviously an aftereffect of Lucifer trying to kill him with The Colt.

But his wounds don’t stop there. Red crusts the back of his head from when he was thrown against the wall, the scrape over his cheekbone from when he hit the floor. The worst of them, however, is the dark purple bruise that rings his throat. Lucifer’s hands weren’t on him for very long, but they clearly left their mark. The angel is surprised that Dean’s trachea wasn’t crushed, or that he’s even still able to speak. Cas lightly slides two fingers across the man’s elbow, watching his breathing flutter as he heals the wounds.

Looking back to the table, Cas picks up the cell phone. Dean is clearly too disoriented to gather the items together, so the angel is going to have to do it himself. Working his hand between Sam’s body and Dean’s waist, he tucks the cell into his jeans. He then goes to retrieve Dean’s gun, but he’s barely reached for it when the hunter quietly says, “Not that one.”

Though his voice is soft, it’s clear that this is an order, so Cas moves and picks up Sam’s gun instead. Going behind Dean, he tucks the weapon into the back of his pants. “You ready?” He asks, though he doesn’t know why he bothers. The only response he receives is a half-hearted glare before Dean turns away and heads for the stairs. Cas only watches him for a moment before easily picking Lucifer up and slinging him over his shoulder. At thirty short of two hundred pounds, he’s an easy carry. He takes up the Colt as well, keeping it in his free hand as he follows Dean out.

The Impala is parked right in front of the bunker, already unlocked. Cas opens the passenger door as Dean walks around to the driver’s side. Opening the glove compartment, the angel tucks the Colt inside before closing it up and moving to the trunk.

Opening up the back door, Dean leans in and gently lays Sam down across the seats. “I’m sorry,” he says softly as he pulls back. He keeps one hand on his brother’s boot, feeling at the worn material as he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “And not just for this. I’ve done a lot of shit to you over the years, and I--- I never apologized for it.” Closing his eyes, his mind catches on all the moments he’s screwed up, specifically when it’s come to his little brother. “I’m sorry for kickin’ your ass. I’m sorry for not tellin’ you about Gadreel. I’m sorry for sayin’ all that shit outside that church. But most of all, I’m---” His breathing catches as he looks down at Sam, eyes unable to remain on his ruined face for more than a few seconds at a time. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe. I promised dad I’d save you, and I failed. God, so many times, _so many times_ I broke my promise to him, broke my promise to _you._ And this time…” He exhales sharply. “There was so much I could’ve done. But I didn’t. I thought that we could win.” Chuckling mirthlessly, he continues, “Kinda stupid of me, huh? Considering all the shit that’s happened in the past? I just… I don’t know what to do, Sam. You--- _you_ would know what to do. You _always_ know what to do. That’s what I get, having a smartass for a little brother, right?” He smiles a little, as though he expects the boy to comment on the joke. But the only response is cold, obvious silence. “I love you,” he says. “I know you love me too. And I know it sounds dickish but right now I wish you didn’t. ‘I love you’ turns into ‘you failed me’ and in our experience that’s something that happens over and over again and…” He glances towards the back of the car to see Cas still ducked down, securing Lucifer in the trunk. “Cas might be right,” he says, voice quieting. “I don’t know, I mean, I could try. I could try and bring you back. But maybe it’s better if I don’t. And I don’t mean leavin’ you up there all by yourself. Chuck is a piece of shit, but I still believe in him, so maybe… Maybe I should do that instead. Plan B.” Dean steps back, releasing his grip on Sam’s boot. “I can do this. For you, I can do this.” The trunk slams shut just as he reaches into the back of his jeans. “Plan B,” he says, repeating, “Plan B.” Then he takes a deep breath and presses Sam’s gun against the side of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fucking ecstatic because way these characters exist in the next book is... so good. As I said, I'm (kind of) revisiting shit from Sam's past, but it's nothing that's ever canonically happened before, so get ready.  
> \---------  
> Dean is hell to write, but I think I'm getting better.  
> \---------  
> Two chapters left!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are allowed to scream. You are allowed to cry. But do not give up.” - Anonymous

_ “Dean!” _

Cas rushes forward, reaching for the gun, but he’s a half-second too slow.

The hunter jerks away from him, voice hoarse with devastation as he shouts, “Don’t!”

_ Do it. _

Tears stain Dean’s cheeks; the dried blood cradling his jaw softens as they fall from his face. 

With raised hands, the angel takes another step in his friend’s direction, but Dean only pulls back again.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says, quieter this time. He’s trying desperately to right himself, but the words still shake and stutter, as does the gun he still has to his head.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks calmly. It’s a pointless question, but he knows that the only way to even  _ begin  _ to convince Dean to put the weapon down is to walk him through this rationally.

_ Now. Do it now. _

Dean’s free hand twitches anxiously. “It’s over, Cas. All of it.”

“No, it’s not,” the angel says firmly. “Not for you.”

“ _Of_ _course_ it is!” Dean’s eyes automatically flick towards the open car door, towards the corpse lying on the back seat. “Without Sam, there’s _no fucking point!”_

“Dean---”

_ “There’s no fucking point!” _

Cas breathes out lightly. Dean is further gone than he’s been in a very long time, making it clear just how difficult this is going to be. “Think of what Sam would want.”

The sound the hunter makes is caught somewhere between a pained laugh and a choked sob, and tears prick once more at the corners of his eyes. “Who gives a shit? He’s  _ dead,  _ Cas. He’s fucking  _ dead.” _

_ Dead dead dead. _

“But  _ you’re not.” _

“I could be,” Dean says, the words so matter-of-fact that Cas feels like he’s been stabbed. “Gets rid of all my problems, right?” He pauses, giving the angel a once-over. “And yours.”

In a single instant, all of the air is gone from Cas’ lungs. Does Dean truly think so little of himself? He’s done so much for the world, but he just can’t seem to see it. Normally it’s Sam that has to be talked down off of the ledge, so seeing Dean toeing the line between ideation and suicide has Cas taken aback. And all of a sudden, he realizes that he doesn’t actually know how to keep his friend from pulling the trigger. So he tries for a different tactic, one normally reserved for the younger Winchester. “Dean, you are worth so much more than you think.”

“No.” The hunter shakes his head, the muzzle of the gun pressing more firmly against his temple. “No.”

“You were to Sam.”

“And where did that get him, huh?” Dean watches him for a moment, scoffing when he doesn’t offer up a response. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly. You have to let me do this.”

Cas toes at the ground, advancing an inch at the most. “At least tell me why.”

Dean’s face twists in exaggerated confusion. “You fucking know why.”

“Tell me,” he replies.

“To--- to go to heaven.” A perplexed half-shrug. “To see Sam again. To not have to live the rest of my life on this fucking planet alone.”

“Sam’s not in heaven.”

It takes a moment for the words the register in Dean’s mind. 

_ Not. Not in heaven. _

His face twitches.

_ Hell. Pit. Cage. _

The gun slips a little, his voice uncomprehending as he stammers out a quiet, “What?”

Cas fingers the sleeve of his trench. He doesn’t actually know where Sam is, but he’s nearly certain that he isn’t in heaven. The place that angels go when they die, that’s where Lucifer is. And, if the archangel was telling the truth - which, in this case, Cas genuinely believes he was - Sam is there too. And there’s no getting him back from there, even  _ with _ Dad’s help. “He’s not---”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Dean says, cutting him off. “No, he’s in heaven, I  _ know  _ he’s in heaven.” He rubs at his forehead as though trying to push the idea from his mind. “He believed in Chuck more than I do, and he’s done good things. That’s all you need, right?” His breathing is growing more erratic, matching the look in his widening eyes. 

Once more, Cas says nothing, prompting Dean to pull the hammer back on Sam’s gun and repeat,  _ “Right?” _

“Sam is connected to Lucifer,” the angel says, eyes going back and forth between the weapon and his friend’s face. “Wherever Lucifer went when he died, so did Sam.”

Dean backs away, blinking rapidly as he gestures with the gun. “No, that’s not true. That’s not true. You’re just saying that---” He takes a breath. “You’re just saying that so I won’t pull the trigger.”

“It’s the truth, Dean.”

“No, it’s  _ not!”  _ The hunter barks as he moves towards Cas, quickly and almost violently, gun in his face. “You’re a fucking liar. A goddamn, motherfucking  _ liar!” _

“I’m sorry,” the angel says softly, reaching to touch him, to comfort him. 

But Dean is already gone, retreating a few steps and out of Cas’ reach. He hisses through his teeth, the back of his hand pressed against the bridge of his nose as tears begin to flow with renewed energy. Closing his eyes, he cries out in pain, the sound warped by the agony that’s taken hold of his soul. “This isn’t happening,” he heaves, gun still pointed shakily at Cas. “This isn’t happening, not again.” He looks up at the sky. “You can’t do this to me,” he says quietly, voice strained. When no one answers, he bursts out,  _ “Fuck!”  _ and buries his face back in his hand.

“Dean---” Cas begins, but he’s immediately cut off.

“Tell me you’re lying.” The hunter takes a deep breath. “Tell me you’re lying, Cas.” He looks up at his friend. His face is pale, the skin around his eyes swollen and red. “Right now. Do it.”

Cas looks at him, pity colouring his features. He can’t tell Dean that; he won’t. It will only be feeding into his delusion, making it that much harder for him to heal. So, for one last time, he remains silent.

And Dean does exactly as expected, closing the space between them again as he roars,  _ “Do it!”  _ But he’s barely gotten the words out when the angel rushes him, arms wrapped around his waist as he tackles him to the ground. The gun goes off in the air, but Cas just knocks it away. 

True to his nature, the hunter fights back, kicking Cas hard enough in the gut that the angel pulls back a few inches, giving Dean just enough space to roll onto his stomach and army crawl out from beneath him. He’s not even gone six inches when Cas grabs him by the collar and pulls him back onto his ass. 

Chest pressed up against Dean’s back, Cas takes him into a bear hug, hands locked together just below the hunter’s pecs. A warmth spreads from his fingers into his friend’s body, angelic powers calming him the best they can. “It’s okay,” he says softly, lips brushing the curve of his ear.

Dean relaxes in his grasp, the stolen anger now making more room for pain and sadness. He looks as though he wants to say something, but the sobs that wrack his body won’t allow him the chance. 

Tucking Dean’s head beneath his chin, Cas holds him a bit tighter. “I've got you, Dean," he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussions of Suicide
> 
> So! Dean and suicide. This is something that the show doesn't really tackle, or at least not directly. Dean's way of attempting suicide is by becoming reckless enough that someone will eventually kill him. Sam's way of attempting suicide is to take it into his own hands. As such, Dean using a foreign method to attempt suicide is difficult to write. But here's my take on it. Dean would be angry. He would be furious. He'd want someone else to do the killing but, since he's not in a setting where this is possible (and he wants to get to heaven asap), he's come upon the realization that he has to do it himself. That is why the Dean in this chapter feels slightly OOC to me, because it's something that's not really been discussed before (in canon).
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> I have the next (aka last) chapter written, as well as the first chapter of the next book. The next book is probably going to be the last one in the series, but that's really dependent on whether I alter some plot points and/or if anyone is keen on this story continuing after the conclusion.  
> I'm not going to post the final chapter for another three days, and the first chapter of the next book for probably another week after that.
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> Hope you all are having a great summer so far!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I assure you brother, the sun will shine on us again.” - Loki Odinson

“I’m sorry.”

Dean doesn’t answer. His eyes take in the road before him, the cement path that will eventually lead them to his brother’s final resting place. 

He’s never liked that phrase: ‘final resting place.’ And, this time, it’s especially ironic. With the odds being good that Sam is back with Lucifer, there will be no ‘resting’ involved. But it won’t be ‘final’ either, as long as Dean can come up with a half-decent plan before they build Sam’s funeral pyre.

He can feel Cas’ trench brush lightly against his elbow and he allows himself to lean into it for a moment. “I’ll find a way,” he says, voice soft, and this time he receives no response, no rebuke, no chiding words telling him that  _ it’s done, it’s too late, it’s not possible.  _

The angel just sits there, gaze locked on the floor of what was once Sam’s side of the car. It’s much cleaner than Dean’s half but, toeing at the floormat, he sees a mark that he knows the younger Winchester has never had any intention of removing. 

Just after Sam’s second stint in The Cage, Dean carved  _ always keep fighting  _ into the floor with a knife. He knew that his brother wasn’t doing well and, having not yet gotten to the point at which they could talk about it, he decided to take a more nonverbal route. Every time Sam felt like he was falling apart, all he had to do was look to those words. 

Sliding the floormat back a bit further, Cas notices a folded slip of white paper tucked almost out of sight. His eyes immediately lock on the letter  _ D  _ penned on the outside. Doing his best to remain expressionless, the angel picks it up. He brushes his thumb against the black ink. 

Sam.

The angel is just about to open the note when the car suddenly rumbles to life. 

One hand on the gear shift and his eyes still on the road, Dean doesn’t notice the paper Cas slips into the pocket of his faded, green jacket. 

“You hearin’ me?” The older Winchester asks, but Cas isn’t quite sure who he’s talking to. 

He gets his answer when Dean doesn’t note his lack of response and just gives himself a reassuring nod. “I’ll find a way,” he says one more time. Then he shifts the car into drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Book one is done. Dean and Cas are on their way to build Sam's funeral pyre while Sam is stuck in... well, we'll get to that soon. But until then, you'll have to wait. The first chapter of the next (and possibly final) book in the series has already been written, but I'm going to hold off for about a week, just to build anticipation. Also it'll give me more time to finish up the second chapter.  
> Anyway. I just want to thank all of you who have stuck with this story even though it's taken a year to get it out. Your kudos and comments are overwhelmingly appreciated, and I'm going to work my way back through them throughout the coming week.  
> Thanks again!  
> \------  
> Update: the first chapter of book 2 is out!


End file.
